Daughter of Hope
by mariaty
Summary: You are the beginning of a new day; you have a whole future to change and shine your light upon. You are my daughter." When Gemma's daughter enters the realms, the border between dream and reality change. Will she be able to understand who she truly is?
1. Prologue

**A/n: I do not own the Gemma Doyle Trilogy… But the rest of this story and the new characters I made up belong to me. Mine, all MINE! (muhahahaha) **

**I hope you enjoy this chapter! Feel free to comment...**

**Daughter of Hope **

_Prologue_

She is born a month early, kicking and thrashing as if the world can no longer wait to be without her. Outside my house I hear a crowd of people gathered to welcome the New Year. It is soon midnight, soon the next day, and the creature inside of me is restless, desperate to escape the comfort and cell of my womb before the day passes; trying to grab hold of the day's ankle before it slips away. She has made her choice and nothing is going to stop her, for she has spent far too much time alone, and now – when the time has finally come – she is eager to finish it as soon as possible. And so am I.

I desperately want to push back, to shrink against my covers and fall into oblivion, but I know there is no going back – only forward. So with all my might, I push.

I grip the sides of the bed and clench my jaw, trying hard to muffle the scream that is posed in my throat. And when suddenly she is out, diving head first into the last of today and towards the beginning of tomorrow, my screams finally escape the tomb of my mouth and mingle with hers, until one can no longer decipher between them.

_/_/_/

Hours later, I stroke her scalp whilst the first rays of dawn enter my window and give her small, pinched, face an eerie glow. On her head is a small stubble of black hair. The midwife – my neighbor – a kind faced lady with a round waist, leaves me with a few instructions and promises to return later today to check on me. I am grateful for her help but even more grateful for her eyes, which hold questions but do not judge, only offer guidance.

I am suddenly frightened by how alone I am, only me in this big, vast, unknown country. The weightless angle in my arms, now finally –_finally – _asleep, feels like a heavy burden I cannot carry, her small body weighing me down to the ground. But then she makes the tiniest sound, more like a duckling than a newborn girl, and her green eyes open and I swear I see a hint of a smile on those small lips. It is the smallest gesture, and her eyes close once again, but it is enough to fill my heart with hope. She holds part of my past, and she is my future.

I cradle her in my arms. I think of mother, of father who just a month ago crossed the river to rejoin her. I was there, helping him cross, and he kissed my forehead and told me he was proud of me.

Tears sting my eyes and one falls on her nose, making her flinch. She is so delicate but yet, I realize, she holds so much. She holds the memory of all those who I've lost. She is my connection to my past which will never come back. But she is also a new light, a new hope, and I smile despite the painful memories. The tears are pouring freely now, and through there haze I see the sun's blinding rays that signal the start of a new day. And suddenly, I know what I shall call her. I crane my neck and lift her towards the window, so the sun could hit her with its full warmth, and she opens her bright eyes and stares unblinkingly at the world which welcomes her as though it's been waiting just for her. For it is morning; morning has come, and there is so much for her to see.

_/_/_/

A large banner with the words _WELCONE, 1900 _drawn with bold letters hangs from one of the tall buildings. New York is painted in lavish colors and the night is ablaze with shadows and lights. I walk with her through the crowd, her hand in mine. She insists on walking on her own, though it is late and she is only three, and lets me lift her on my shoulders only to see above the crowd. I am marveled at her determination to stay awake, for surely the dawn of a new millennium is of little interest to a three year old girl. Still, she insisted, so I had taken her out to hear the music and see the lights.

"How long, Mama?" she asks in her small voice.

"Soon," I say.

But soon is like decades in the child's mind, and her eyes flutter as she struggles to keep them open. I smile at her sweet, stubborn attempts to stay awake. She has made a choice, and nothing is going to stop her, even a long overdue bedtime.

The clock on the tower shows a minute till Midnight. I lift her up to see the clock. I am reminded of a night like this, three years ago, when she had made her entrance on the border of a new year. Now she is in my arms, waiting to welcome the new millennium.

"Ten, nine…" A few people in the crowd count the seconds down. Meanwhile the bells chime continuously, and she clutches my arm.

"...Eight, seven, six…" I give her a little shake, but she is wide awake and she stares not into the crowd but at the vast sky, as if waiting for something to fall out of it.

"…five, four, three…" She turns her head to me.

"Two, one..." It is at this moment that she smiles at me, her eyes shining and her black curls astray. This is the moment she is savoring, the moment before; the one in between that belongs to both sides, yet not to any. It is like the dawn, signaling the start of a new day that isn't really quite here yet, not yet shining with its full force.

And then above the crowd's clangor the great striking bell booms twelve o'clock. The people cheer, shake hands and exchange mutual good wishes, and I plant a kiss on her cheek.

"Happy new year, love" I whisper in her ear, but she is already asleep.

_/_/_/

It is her sixth birthday and she is playing among her friends. Her sleek black ringlets are piled above her head and her light golden skin, darker than my pale white, makes her green eyes look unusually bright. A friend tags her and she falls to the ground, sinking into the snow until she is almost invisible. I worry for a moment, but then she pokes her head out and laughs, high and cheerful. Is such a beautiful sound that the children can do nothing but join her laughter.

She emerges from the pile of the snow, her cloths wet and her hair clamped to her face, a dazzling smile on her face. She is such a charming sight and a wonder if it is possible not to love her. The children take turns now jumping into the snow, all immerging as wet as her. _Dear god, _I think, _what am I going to tell their mothers? _But I smile despite myself.

"Mama! Come jump in the snow with us." She urges me, and for a moment I am tempted by that sweet face.

"No, love, I think I'll just watch. But be careful, you don't want to get sick just before the end of the holiday." I push a snowflake off her nose. She sneezes. _Oh, well_.

The kids let out a yelp, and a ball of snow hits her face. She turns around and charges towards them, hailing snowballs at whomever is near.

She is everyone's friend. I am surprised again at how she fits in, an English girl among the rest. Already, I notice, her English has taken an American toll. She is part of everything, mingling with the rest of the children with ease. Only if one looks closely they can see that she is different, her dark hair against the kids' yellows and browns, her eyes carrying a different gleam. The kids do not notice her difference, do not care for her golden skin or of the lack of a father; they love her anyways. It is the adults who question, who disapprove, their judging eyes baring into mine and their muffled conversations trailing behind me.

If only we were all children.

The sun is out for a glorious moment, washing their faces with a new blaze. They tire of their game and sit down, letting the rare moment of sun dry the drenched cloths. I think it's an appropriate time to give her the birthday present.

"I have a gift for you." I announce and pull a small pink bicycle out of its hiding place. Her eyes grow wide, and for a moment her expression reminds me of something past, and a bittersweet joy fills me.

Once, I saw him in her everywhere. Every gesture, every movement reminded me of lost times; the way she pulled her hand through her curls, her sheepish grin, her gait. But lately I've been seeing less and less of him, more of her. She is becoming a person of her own, with a personality and actions and thoughts that belong only to her, a person I love so dearly. Maybe one day she'll do something great, maybe she'll change the world, maybe only herself. I look at her beautiful awed face, her curls bouncing up and down as she does. Maybe she'll even be a heartbreaker. She is so beautiful, so small and delicate with her light golden skin, her thick black curls and those long eyelashes framing her big green eyes. Those eyes, those bright green eyes, are the only part of her that belongs to me. The rest of her belongs to him.

She embraces me in a tight hug, making my skirt damp. "Thank you, mama! Thank you." She inhales excitedly, and I take her to a place where the snow is cleared and she can ride. I wonder if the ground is too slippery for the bicycle, I am afraid she will fall. She is so small, so delicate, that sometimes I wonder if she is a dream, an illusion; always about to shimmer out of view. Sometimes she is here but not here, her mind elsewhere, dreaming.

She rises on the bicycle, wobbles, and then falls. She is up quickly, determination sharpening her features. The magic tingles inside me, and I work hard not to help her with it. Instead, I hold her bicycle and steady it as she peddles for a while. She is a fast learner, and soon she breaks free of my hold and rides wobbly down the rode, her friends cheering behind her as she peddles out of my reach, like a fleeting dream. Her skirts fly above her knees, and I smile, thinking that next time I shall buy her a pair of trousers.

I remember the time, not so long ago but light years away, when I first rode a bicycle. I was a decade older than her, and I used my magic to do it. There are many differences between us, but this is the biggest one. She doesn't need magic; she has a power of her own.

_/_/_/

She is ten, and she is old enough to understand that people stare, whisper and sometimes even comment, but not quite old enough to understand why. She is accustomed to snide comments as we walk hand in hand on the streets; our green eyes the only thing, apart from a knowledge and a secret, which we share. I know what they think of me, of her. I don't want her to know.

I take her to see the statue of liberty for her birthday present. It is the best I could give her now, I know. We live in the same small house I lived in since I discovered I was pregnant and left the university, my Indian food store down the corner the only thing keeping me paying the house bills. But still, she loves it. We walk along the frozen shore until we find a place where we could see the looming statue through the fog. The statue stares at us from across the shore, its hand raised high as in a wave, and I have a vision of a different person standing there, as beautiful as a roman sculpture, a crown of curls surrounding his hair. I swallow hard.

"It's beautiful," She says.

"It is," I sigh.

We stand there for a while, both in a dream, lost to our own thoughts. Then she takes my hand in her small one.

"Are you thinking of him now?"

"Yes." I don't lie, for I know those smart eyes; they see through the truth.

"Do you think of him a lot?" she asks.

"Yes," that is all I offer, and she pushes no more.

She raises our hands, smiling. "Look," she says, nodding towards our intertwined fingers, one golden, one white; gold, white. "It's like a zebra." She says this with such a child's innocence that I am forced to smile.

We walk on the shore for a while to pass the time until our train comes. We pass a group of black women. They are huddled together, whispering, taking comfort in each other. People spit towards them as they pass by. One of the woman's hair is braided in long, thin dreadlocks. They remind me a bit of Gorgon. Before I can stop her, she goes over to the woman.

"Can you braid my hair like that too, please?" She asks.

The woman looks from her to me uncertainly, and I shrug.

"For your birthday," I say.

The woman starts to work on my daughter's hair, her hands moving in breathtaking speed. Another woman joins in, working on the other half of her hair. Within minutes, they are finished. She jumps excitedly, her new braids jumping with her, and the women smiles, white teeth gleaming against the dark skin.

"Thank you," I say and take the woman's hand, placing a coin in it. She looks at me uncertainly, as though at any moment I am about to arrest her. I smile and close her hand against the coin.

I let the magic loose a bit. _There is hope,_ I think, and watch as it fills the woman's eyes with a new spark.

"Why are people so mean to them like that?" she asks when we are at a fair distance from them, jingling her braids.

I am taken back by her question, and it takes me a moment to answer. "Because it's hard for them to look past their differences; all they see is their dark skin."

She nods, and I know she is trying to understand, but doesn't.

"Sometimes people are mean to me too, on the street. But I'm not as dark as them." She says.

A pang of sadness hits my heart and I want to hug my daughter, to protect her from any harm. "They're just jealous of you," I say, "because you're so beautiful."

"And because I have the best mother in the world," she adds with a sheepish grin. I wrap my arms around her and we enter the train. She leans her head against my shoulder as we sit.

"Mother?"

"Yes?"

She turns her big green eyes towards me. "How doesn't the zebra get confused, with those two different colors in her?"

I don't know what to say. "She is colorblind, so she doesn't notice the difference." I say at last. I know the answer doesn't make sense, but she is a child, and it satisfies her.

"I wish I were colorblind, too," she says.

_/_/_/

I watch her as she runs, her hands lifting her skirt. Her hair flies about her face like a lion's main. For a second I see a flash of someone else running, someone long gone, but then she is back, running with all her grace.

She is fifteen today, and I know what I shall give her. I think back of the day she was born and wonder if I've seen then, in her eyes, the person she is today. She is still always in a hurry, running from place to place, trying to grab hold of the time before it slips away. She is still determined and doesn't give up. She has such a charm to her that I never had, and could never have.

She is growing so quickly. No longer does she play as carelessly as she had with the boys her age. Some of her friends have turned their backs on her as they got older, their mothers' comments and disapproving glares finally sinking in. She feels their decent; she is old enough to understand, and I see how it fills her with sadness. She is filled with so much love and charm, and she holds on to the friends she still has dearly. And those friends love her back, for it is impossible – once you looked past the differences – not to love such a sunshine like her.

She has grown taller the past year, though she is still very small for her age, and she is no longer stick straight. I have seen her study her reflection in the mirror, watching the changes grow in her body. Now I see what I have seen years ago. She is truly beautiful, not in a conventional way but in an exotic one. Her long, dark lashes frame her large green eyes. Her nose is small and slightly upturned, making her look younger than she is. Her big, black curls she refuses to cut hand loosely down to her back. Her waist is small, and she is so delicate I'm afraid she would break. I am continuously tying to fatten her up with food. She has golden skin, darker than mine but lighter than his; a compromise.

But she doesn't care for her beauty. She is so busy running, jumping, exploring, learning. Those green eyes are always thirsty for more information, for new knowledge.

I watch as she runs back towards me, bringing the recipe I asked her to bring with her. She tumbles into the store, her face flushed and her eyes shinning.

"Here, Mother."

"Thank you, love."

We start to work, preparing big amounts of little Indian cakes for a large family's order. I set aside one cake for her.

I cannot believe she is fifteen. I was only a few years older than her when I had her, and I shudder to think about all I have gone through by then. I want to protect her from all the troubles the world has in stash, but I know I cannot.

She finishes decorating the cake first and starts on another, always a step before me. Sometimes I am afraid she'll run ahead of me until I can't reach her, leaving me alone.

When we return home I take out the cake I set aside for her. We are to go over to our neighbor to celebrate her birthday, but first I want to give her the gift.

"Happy birthday," I say and I lift the pendent of my neck and hand it to her. My neck feels different without the weight of it, my heart lighter.

Her eyes widen. "No, I can't—"

"Shh," I say. "I do not need it anymore. It is time for you to have it."

She traces the shape of the eye with her finger and then puts the pendant around her neck. It rests there, below the hollow of her neck, at though it has always belonged there.

"Thank you, Mother," she says. She wraps her arms around me in a tight hug.

"It is only a preparation – for the gift you'll receive next year." I say.

"Next year," she repeats.

Those two words hang in the room like stalking vultures. Have I made the right choice? Perhaps it would've been best to move on and forget about my past, to leave her out of it. Would it have been better for her to live in oblivion for all her life than to face what awaits her next year? I don't want her to live through what I have; I want to keep her safe. But there are no safe choices, I remember. Each action has its consequences, and this is what I choose to do. What does next year have to bring?

I'll just have to wait and see.

_/_/_/

**A/N: Thanks for reading! If you have any thoughts, corrections, whatev -- just feel free to reply :)**


	2. Chapter 1

**UndercoverHufflepuff and ****The one who breathes nitrogen**** (are you sure that's good for you?), you guys are my heroes! Thanks a ton for the reviews ****:)**** And as for your questions – Kartik will be in this story, but about escaping the tree – you'll just have to wait and see…**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Gemma Doyle books – I am just an obsessed fan who finished the book a few weeks ago and is using this story to get over Kartik getting…uh, well… sucked into a tree. (Yeah, I know-- Awkward.) I figured that if I write a new story I could control what happens to the characters… (yay, the control is mine! See? I'm evil..)**

**So rest assured. No one is going to be eaten by a tree in this story.**

_/_/_/

CHAPTER ONE

_Dawn_

_November 10__th__, 1912._

In my dream, I am a bird.

I am flying over an expanse of land, sailing through the sky with unnatural speed. I fly effortlessly through a cloud, little droplets of moist clinging to my feathers. I fly lower, lower, until I am just grazing the tops of the buildings and trees with such grace I could only muster in dreams. I am in euphoria, drunk by the rush of the air through my lungs. But as my mind clears I see myself flying towards a building – a huge clock – and I cannot bring myself to a stop.

"Dawn!"

I bolt awake, my head banging against the branch I've been leaning on. My legs dangle underneath me, and for a second I think I am still flying. My head turns from side to side, wondering where the looming clock-tower went. But then my sense returns and I'm back on the tree I climbed onto before I fell asleep. I search for the source of the voice that called me, rubbing my forehead where I could've sworn – just seconds ago – I rammed headfirst into a clock.

"Hmm?" I loop my legs around the branch and let myself drop, only my legs holding on and keeping me from falling. My head and arms poke out of the thick leafs, and I find myself face to face with an upside-down Greta.

"Hello, Greta!" I smile with all my charm, but then I realize she's seeing me the other way up, so I frown.

She shakes her head. "I knew I'd find you here, up in your tree again."

"Oh, you know me so well, Greta," I sooth. The blood is pouring to my head.

She pinches my cheeks. "Since the day you were born, an' you looked just like this then, all red and pinched. I would've thought something would change in fifteen years."

"Sixteen," I say.

"Almost," she corrects me. "Now get yourself down here and make yourself presentable. Someone's asking for you."

I throw up my arms and catch the branch, letting my legs fall first. I land with a bit too much force on the ground and in result I loose my balance and fall backwards, on my behind.

Greta chuckles. "Still got to work on the landing, eh?"

I put on a sour face and straighten my skirt. It is so wrinkled I'm afraid I'll have to put it in an oven to iron it.

"Who's asking?"

"Some English fellow. Knocked on my door and asked if the girl next door was around. Had something strange 'bout him, I'll say."

"Ah, the English," I say. "Such strange habits. Haven't you ever wondered why they insist of having that huge clock of a tower? It's a nuisance, just asking for a bird to hit its head on it."

"I see you've no need to remember you are English, too," she mumbles.

"But really, how many birds do you think get caught between the hands?" I flatten my curls and wipe some leafs off my arms.

We walk towards my house, where I spot a man standing at the doorstep. He is wearing a black cloak and a dark cap covers half his face.

"Dawn Doyle?" He asks as I reach him. He has a thick English accent.

"The one and only," I say. "And you are?"

He looks past me, to where Greta is standing.

"Just an old friend of your mother's," he says.

Mother is at the store. "Shall I call her?"

He shakes his head, and for a second I see brown hair escaping his cap. He leans in and whispers so only I could hear, "you know of the realms, I s'ppose?"

I nod slowly. To Greta, I say, "Thank you for calling me, Greta. We'll see you at dinner, yes?"

She hesitates, but then nods and turns away towards her house. I wait until Greta is in her house before I speak again.

"Yes?"

He looks at me, his brown eyes searching. He looks middle aged, maybe half a decade older than Mother.

"I imagined you taller," he says.

_So nice of him to point out my height_, I think. I raise my eyebrows.

"Who are you?" I ask, in what I hope is my most demeaning voice. Not that a small sixteen year old girl can be of any threat to him.

"I told you, a friend. Have you ever entered the realms?"

He has been here only two minutes and already he's hit my two weak points. "No."

He nods. "Good."

And then he's already going, not waiting for my reply. I try to call after him but he is gone, disappearing behind a group of houses.

I stand where I am for a moment, and then I am off running towards our store. My feet hit the pavement lightly as I run, and I let my head rise and my curls fly about my face.

I love running. I love to feel the air rushing to my face. I love the way it makes my breath short, the exhilaration it sends through my body. I can outrun everyone I know. For as long as I've known myself I've been running. From what, I don't know.

I reach our store and open the glass doors. It is a small, cozy store painted in pale yellow and orange. At the counter there is a display of Indian food, all made by Mother and me. I look around. The place is empty apart from us.

"Mother?"

She is sitting behind the counter, a book in her lap, but I can tell she is not reading. Her green eyes I inherited burn a hole in the book's page and her golden red hair hangs loosely around her face.

She looks up from her book. "Yes, love?"

"The strangest thing just happened," I say, and I tell her about the man.

When I am finished she raises her eyebrows, wondering. "A friend? I don't know who he could be."

"Perhaps the Order sent him to guarantee you are not teaching me to enter the realms?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "No, I am in correspondence with the Order. They know I will only allow you to enter the realms when you are sixteen."

Until I am sixteen – that is how it has always been. All my life I've been waiting for the day when I'll turn sixteen, when I'll finally be able to see the realms and its magic I heard so much about. Ever since I remember myself the knowledge of the realms pulsed in my veins. I do not recall the first time Mother told me of the realms. It is part of me, that knowledge, just like the magic is part of my mother. Over the years I heard more and more of Mother's adventures, of her friends and of the Order and the Rakshana. I've been there when Mother worked hard to put the Order back together again, when she made new alliances and new rules. I've listened to her speak of her meetings with the realms' creatures after every time she entered the realms. I've watched her learn from the past to change the present, and I've watched how she slowly built a new future.

One of the new rules is that girls shall not be allowed to enter the realms until they are sixteen. So I've watched how my mother went into her room and entered the realms without me, night after night. Once she would enter almost every night, though gradually it became every week, and now it is maybe twice a month. But there is one day she always enters the realms, every year – November tenth. Today.

"Never it matter, Mother," I say. "I have promised Greta we will have supper with her, and we shall be late if we don't hurry."

She gives me a smile, but her brow is furrowed, thinking of an explanation.

"Someone knows of the realms, and he's from England. But why is he here? I think I shall ask Mrs. Nightwing when we go to England."

_England. _So much power to one word that fills me with exhilaration and dread. We are to leave New York and go to England at the end of this month. I had agreed to this, _wanted _this, yet the thought of it makes me apprehensive. I know some part of Mother longs for England and for her friends there; and some part of me longs to be there, too. That is where it has all started. I want to see it for myself, to find my destiny there.

But England is different, I know. In England I will be a Miss Doyle, my mother – who has taken her name and uses it as a married name – will be Mrs. Doyle, sister of the honorable Dr. Doyle. I will have to fit into the tight corset of the society there. I will have to have manners and etiquette; I will have to learn to be a lady. And that, dear God, is what scares me the most.

_/_/_/

Greta's cooking, as always, is delicious.

We eat supper and talk of my studies, of Greta's new deliveries and our plans for England.

"I'll say, that babe really wanted to come out," Greta says. "But don't worry, Dawn, not as much as you. I've _never_ seen a baby as anxious to come out as you were."

"Always so impatient," Mother says, rolling her eyes.

We both know what she means. The only thing that ever stood between us was the realms. I have been angry with her, at times, because she wouldn't let me accompany her to the realms. It was my impatience that leaded to our arguments.

We talk of everything, Mother and I. Well, almost everything. There is one topic I know not to approach, for I see the pain in her eyes when I ask her about it, and I don't want to cause her any harm. It is an unspoken boundary we mustn't cross. Yet sometimes, she could just be looking into the sky and then start talking about him, saying words that don't make sense to me but mean the world to her.

"So… Ten more days," Greta says.

I feel a pang of sadness and guilt. Greta has been delivering people new life, granting them with a new light and hope, when she has never gotten one of her own. She lives alone in her house; a house that is too big even for her plump size. I feel horrible for leaving her. I will miss her dearly.

"Yes," Mother says quietly.

This is followed by such an intense silence that even the rustling of the leafs outside could be heard.

"Greta, I—" Mother starts.

"There is no need, Gemma. Let's not talk of it now, shall we?"

"Thank you, for everything." She takes Greta's hand in hers. "I must go, see you tomorrow."

She rises and turns to exits the room. I know where she is going, but Greta could never possibly guess. She nods, "Take care, Gemma."

"I will," she says and leaves.

Greta and I are left alone in the room. She pours herself a cup of tea and offers me some, even though she knows the answer.

"No thank you. I don't care for bile, tasteless tea." I say, stating the usual answer.

"Oh, but you could add sugar," she says and hands me a sugar bowl. I hesitate but then take a cup of tea, adding two full spoons of sugar to the boiling essence. I sip the top of my tea. It is pretty good, and it makes my throat warm.

"See?" Greta says, taking a sip of her own tea. "Isn't it such a shame never to try things when you could just add sugar to make it taste better?"

I nod. We sit in silence sipping our tea.

"Greta," I start, "what will you do when we leave, who will you make all your delicious food for?" I say it as a joke, but as it comes out I realize how true it is. Greta smiles sadly.

"Oh, there are always new babies being born, old babies leaving. There will always be someone in need of my food. That is the way of the world." She says and I suspect that we're really not talking about food.

"Or," I say, "you could just eat it all yourself."

She pats her round stomach and a laugh escapes her throat. "Ah, Dawn Doyle."

"The one and only," I say.

"Yes, the one and only. I will miss you, Dawn Doyle."

"I will miss you too, Greta."

She gazes out the window, where a steady drop of early November rain has started.

"I have known you since the day you were born, Dawn. And you know what I thought when I pulled that little head of yours out?" she asks.

"What?"

"I was thinkin'--'why, this one is going to make a difference'. Do you know how I knew?"

I shake my head.

"You were so anxious to come out, so anxious to live. Nothing could change your mind."

I look into her eyes, those two pools of blue water. "You're right," I say, and I know we are talking not about the past, but about the future; about what is going to happen in ten days. Nothing is going to make me change my mind about going.

"Promise me two things, Dawn. When you go to England, no matter how many dresses they force you to wear, and how many fancy words you need to use, don't ever forget from where you come from."

"I promise. Don't worry, I won't forget America."

"No, not America; don't forget where you really come from, who you really are." She says, and I suddenly wonder how much she really knows about us, if she had ever guessed.

"I won't," I promise.

"Good," she nods.

"And the second thing?" I ask.

"Don't ever enjoy the food there more than you enjoy mine, understood?"

"I won't," I say, "I never will."

_/_/_/

I lay awake in my bed. I can hear the pounding of the rain on our little house. It is a steady, never-ending rhythm. I think of what awaits me in England. I've only been there once, when I was four, for my uncle's wedding. I remember traveling in the sea, and I can recall vaguely the outline of the houses there. But more than anything I remember Mother's face when she embraced my brother, how she said to him; "how did you get that poor girl to marry you?" with a toying grin. I chuckle. I've heard many stories of Uncle Tom's arrogance and quest to seek a wife with a personal fortune. At the end that was what he had gotten, and there was no one more surprised – and happy – than my mother about it.

We are to spend the holidays with Uncle Tom and my three cousins, but also with someone else who will come to visit. I know who she is, and it makes me giddy with anticipation. Felicity Worthington.

I hear the door to my room creek open. Mother – she's back from the realms. I turn my head towards her.

"Mother, could you come here for a moment?"

She sits on my bed and strokes my hair, and even though it makes me feel small again, I like it. I wish I could spend eternity lying here, with Mother stroking me and keeping me safe.

"Remember how we used to sit like this and I would tell you bedtime stories when you couldn't fall asleep?" She asks.

I nod. "Yes, and sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night from a bad dream, and then you would always tell me it was only a dream."

"And then you would say that it wasn't a dream, it was real. I had so many sleepless nights trying to convince you that your dreams weren't really happening."

I smile sheepishly. "Sorry."

She ruffles my hair. "That's what mothers are for."

"Mother, do you believe in dreams?"

"Yes; no – maybe. The border between dream and reality is sometimes so thin that one doesn't know what to believe anymore. "

"I believe in dreams."

"I know you do," she says quietly.

"Tell me about Felicity Worthington," I ask.

In the dark I see the outline of her faint smile. I have heard so much of Mother's friends, yet I can never get enough.

"Felicity is the bravest person I know. She was broken time after time, and yet she still kept going. She didn't give up until she found what she was seeking for. Oh, but she was such a rule-breaker! She was the gossip of the day, causing scandal after scandal with her own charming talent. Have I told you of the time she came up with the idea to make Ann a long lost niece of a rich Duke?"  
"Yes."

"Ah, Ann. I miss her dearly, too," she sighs.

"Do you think we'll be able to se her in London?"

"I hope so. She _is _scheduled to perform there around the holidays, but with Ann, you never know where she could be."

I have seen Ann perform in a musical once, when she came to perform in New York. I remember being dazzled by her voice, the sweet and humble thing that holds so much magic. She is not world-wide famous, but Mother says she has fulfilled her long time dream, and when I've seen her, she seemed content.

"Ann, sweet Ann," she says. "We called her the clever one. I watched her defeat her fears and stand up for herself. I was there when she learned to love herself the way she was. She was never as beautiful as Pippa, but she had a beauty of her own."

"Pippa Cross," I say quietly.

There is a distant fog in her eyes. "Pippa… Beautiful Pippa. Always having to live up to her family's expectations, always having others control her course of life. She made a choice, she took hold of her life for the first time, and then… Then we lost her to the realms. The lust for power was too great for her and she became someone else, only the power of her love keeping her from disappearing completely. She wasn't ready for the power."

"Am I ready?" I ask.

She moves a stray curl away from my eyes. "Yes, you are."

I nod. I hold the pendant she gave me a year ago close to my chest.

"And what about you?" I ask.

"Me?"

"Yes, what about Gemma Doyle, the last part of the puzzle?"

Her eyes gaze upwards, thinking. "Gemma Doyle… She was the mysterious one. Many knew her in different ways— Lady Hope, Most High, Priestess… But to tell the truth, she was just herself, just Gemma. Sometimes she didn't even know who she was."

"I know who she is," I say quietly. "She is my mother, and I love her very much."

"Yes, I am. " She says and smiles.

"And what about me," I ask. "Who am I?"

"You are Dawn Doyle. You are the beginning of a new day; you have a whole future to change and shine your light upon. You are my daughter, and I love you more than anything in the world."

I embrace her. Her hair covers my face and I inhale the scent of her, savoring the moment. Times are changing, I know. I cannot let go the feeling of dread that creeps up through my throat, the feeling that nothing is ever going to be the same after England.

"Sweet dreams, Dawn," she says and kisses my forehead.

"Sweet dreams," I say.

_/_/_/

**Tadam! So, how do you like Dawn? I tried to make her voice different from Gemma's. How bout her name, do you like it?**

**Anyways, did anyone of you notice it was Karik's birthday? And when Dawn says she believes in dreams it's like what Kartik always said in TSFT.**

**Tell me what you think! (Pretty pretty please?)**


	3. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

_London_

_/_/_/

The rain is pounding vigorously on the surface of the water. Dark, wild waves crash into the ship and make it – along with my stomach – jerk back and forth.

It has been a relatively calm voyage until tonight. The seas were calm and the sun shone behind the clouds. But one must never trust mid November weather. It changes its mind like a little girl.

"Mother? Are you all right?" I ask. She is clutching her stomach for dear life, and she looks sick.

"Now I remember why last time I went on a ship I swore that I would never go on one again," she mutters through clenched teeth.

I am far better than her. Apart from the ship's sudden sharp movements, I am enjoying the journey. I love to see the sun reflect onto the ocean, the waves rising and disappearing in a mist of foam.

It is a rough night, but eventually, the seas calm. And by the next day, we are at London.

_/_/_/

Ah, London – so different from New York with its unique style and glamour. I swallow in every piece of scenery as we ride in the carriage towards our destination. From far, towering over the rest of the city, I see the Big Ben. Its hands show it is almost noon.

Our carriage comes to a stop in front of a big, white house. The hedges in front of it are flawless, trimmed to the exact height. There is something marvelous about this house, and though it is by far not the biggest I've seen here, it has an elegant air about it.

A woman dressed in a fine green silk emerges from the house, giving as a dazzling white toothed smile.

"Oh, Gemma! It is such a pleasure to see you again," she says, embracing Mother – who seems a tad baffled by the woman's overly expressed fondness.

"It's, uh, nice to see you too, Genalyn," Mother says.

The woman motions to the butler, who takes our trunks inside, and we fallow her into the house.

It is as elegant in the inside as on the outside, and it is decorated with what I guess – not that I am the one to ask about such matters – with the latest fashions. The walls are a pale cream color, the ceiling high; a vast chandelier hanging down from it and sending splinters of light upon the room. The white drapes are hanging loosely above the large window, and I notice a maid quickly secure them into place.

It is flawless, not a speck of dust upon any piece of the well polished furniture. The floors shine so much that I am afraid to place my foot on them, afraid to leave a permanent stain from my dirty shoes onto this delicate floor.

"Please, make yourself at home," Genalyn says. "I'll have a maid show you your rooms."

I inhale the clear air. I am afraid to exhale, for surely my ragged breath would be like smoke against the pure air.

"Where is Thomas?" Mother asks.

"He is at the hospital," Genalyn replies. Her gaze turns to me, "You must be little Dawn! Last time we met, you were just a little girl!"

She pinches my cheek. I sigh; why does everyone have a habit of pinching my cheek lately?

The maid leads us upstairs, and as we go up I steel a glance at Genalyn. She is tall – though not as tall as Mother – and has a slender build. Her corset shapes her body perfectly, pinching her waist and bosom into the right position. Her brown curls are placed elegantly atop her head, secured into place by dozens of pins. I finger one of my loose curls, wondering how many pins it would take to hold my hair in place. I don't know if my head would be in the right state to count all those pins once I'm done sinking them in my hair – surely I'll accidently puncture my brain at the process.

My room is at the end of the hall, across from Mother's. I quickly settle my belongings and enter her room.

"Well, she seems quite… nice," I state.

A harsh laugh escapes her. "More like bubble-headed and fake. Good old Tom, he did get the girl he was always looking for. One that will be a disciplined lady and spend her time gossiping when he's off at work, not even bothering to come and greet his sister he hasn't seen in twelve years." She huffs. It is such an unusual state to see her in that I cannot help but to laugh.

"What?" She eyes me, and I stop abruptly.

"She did seem a bit _too_ perfect," I say after a while.

Mother nods, "that is how things are here, Dawn. Everything set up in a perfect position, until one wrong movement brings the entire perfectly set tower tumbling down."

"So you're saying that all the etiquette, all the rules and order – they are just an illusion?"

She looks thoughtful for a moment. "No, not all of it. Sometimes it's hard to tell what an illusion is and what's not." She puts her hand on my arms and squeezes slightly, as though she is not sure I am really there.

"I'm still here," I squeeze her arm back.

"I know you are," she says quietly. "I know."

_/_/_/

"I had her _first_!"

The last word comes out as a piercing shriek. I'm sure it could be heard throughout the whole house, the echo bouncing from wall to wall. I lift my chin and make the meanest, most authoritative face I can produce, trying to ignore the fact that I was just referred to as a mere play doll by a six year old girl.

"Now," I say, considering my words. "I do not belong to anyone." _And most likely not to you two evil, squeaky voiced brats!_

Amanda and Elizabeth, at only six and nine years of age, can probably win the world record for the world's loudest horn – that is, if they were not humans.

From the minute they saw me they didn't let me go. I was their new friend, the '_old girl', _and from then I had to go through an agonizing ritual of dress up, tea parties, and – oh, the pain! – various hairstyles. Somewhere in the process, their governess disappeared. Not that I blame her.

"But I was playing with your hair first! Tell her, Dondon," my youngest cousin whines, getting my name all wrong and tugging at my hair. I resist the urge to strangle her. Usually, I consider myself good with kids, and I even like them, find them cute. But this – this is not cute. This is evil. I shake my head, trying to rid of Amanda's shriek that still echoes in my head – _first, first, first…_

"You are saying her name wrong. It is Dawn, not Dondon. _Dawn._" She says my name slowly, opening her mouth wide with each letter so it sounds like she's saying '_Da-oh-on'_. Elizabeth, being three years senior of her sister, often takes the role of their lost governess. She orders Amanda around, and I think that when she'll grow up, she will surely make a fine headmistress.

"Thank you for clarifying that, Elizabeth dear," I say. "But as I said before, I do not belong to anyone, and I would like my hair intact until Christmas, so would you be so kind as to let my hair go?"

It seems that my kind, sophisticated words have caused the opposite affect – for at that moment the two girls each pull a bundle of my hair towards their direction, with more force than before.

Fortunately for me, at exactly that moment the two girls' mother enters the room. She stands at the doorway, arms at her hips.

"Elizabeth! Amanda! What is all this noise about? How do you ever expect to become well mannered ladies if you act like this?! Where is Miss Sharol?" She asks, referring to the governess.

I shrug and Genalyn sighs, a look of sheer exasperation on her face.

"Where did she go, now? She has a responsibility she must fulfill," she _tsk_s.

She turns to the girls. "Girls, Dawn is to rest right now. She has been through a long journey to come here and I suspect she has no mood for your games at this moment." I look at her as if she just fell out of heaven. I grasp my opportunity and move my head out of the little girl's reach.

"Perhaps she shall play with you later," Genalyn adds, and my mood sinks a bit, but not enough to erase the taste of freedom from my mouth. Free, finally – free!

I dash out the door as quickly as I can.

"You are my night in shining armor," I mutter as I pass Genalyn. She then gives me such a baffled look that I am forced to remember that this is London, and that ladies here – especially ones such as Genalyn Doyle – do not appreciate being referred to as men, no matter how shiny their armor is.

_/_/_/

I am dreaming again. I am galloping through the forest, spraying leaves with every jump I take. I'm underwater, the sense of danger filling me, and I swim faster; away from the predator who has spotted me. I'm rolling in mud, letting it warm my slimy body and sooth me. I am a bird, and I am flying—

I wake up with a start, panting. From my window the late afternoon sun is descending, clearing the sky for the night's moon and stars. The sun's rays hit Big Ben – which I can see easily from my room, towering over the rest of the houses – giving it a magnificent glow. I shudder and close the window.

I yawn and straighten my cloths. I have been so exhausted after entertaining my little cousins that I have fallen onto my bed and fell asleep quickly, still in my cloths.

Downstairs, Mother sits at the table reading a book. Genalyn is sipping a cup of tea, eying Mother over the brim of her cup. Elizabeth and Amanda are nowhere to seen.

I take a seat next to Mother, wondering how I will fill this evening. Though I am still tierd, my legs buzz with an unstoppable eagerness. I want to go out, to explore the streets of London; to run in this glamorous, well mannered city.

My thoughts are interrupted when the door opens and a man holding a briefcase enters the house. He is almost as I remembered him, tall and – tough the years _have_ added their toll around the sides – still quite lanky. His yellow hair is cut in a well mannered short cut – as though he was trying to control it – but I can see the little tuffs of hair hanging about, the lone untamed curl in front of his eyes. He smiles crookedly and embraces Mother tightly.

"Gemma!" Uncle Tom exclaims, holding her at arms length.

"Thomas," Mother beams.

He examines her and a sly grin appears on his face. "Ah, Gemma! What is this I see? Is that a wrinkle forming above your brow?"

She pinches his sides. "The years haven't forgotten you either, dear brother," she says teasingly.

I smile to myself. I am so accustomed to the thoughtful, older and sophisticated Mother I know, and now I am suddenly aware of this other side of her. The daring, adventurous Gemma Doyle, the one who is teased by her brother and teases him back.

They exchange a few welcoming words, and then his gaze shifts to me.

"Dawn, you've grown so much!" He says, looking me over. We stand at arms length, and I cannot shake the feeling that he doesn't approve of me.

"Hello, Uncle Tom," I say. He grins at me and then, to my relief, pulls me into a hug.

"Gemma's been telling me quite a bit about you through her letters," he says. "It seems like you were a lot to handle. Still, I could bet you weren't as much as my girls."

An image of the two girls appears in my head. "Not even close."

His head falls back in laughter. "You've met them, I suspect."

_You have no idea. _"Yes," I say. "They're quite sweet."

"Oh, they inherited their sweetness from me," he says. "Now, shall we have dinner?"

_/_/_/

"Could you pass the sugar, please?" I ask Elizabeth.

We have just finished our dinner – stir fried rice and cabbage rolls – and Genalyn has offered me tea. I agree, though I don't forget Greta's advice. Genalyn watches in horror as I add not one – _three_ – spoons of sugar into my cup.

"Dawn, dear. Before we have guests tomorrow we are going to have to review a few things," she says.

"What things?" I ask.

"You're having guests?" Mother asks.

"Why, yes," Genalyn replies, ignoring me. "Lord and Lady Timmleton, with their daughter. Such a charming couple, I must say."

"What things?" I ask again.

"Oh, just the basics – etiquette, table manners. I think I shall take you to buy a new wardrobe tomorrow. I would have lent you some of my dresses, but they are far too long for you, I suspect."

"What's wrong with my clothes?" I ask.

"May I come, too?" Elizabeth asks. Amanda has already gone to bed, and I find that when they are not together, Elizabeth is actually tolerable.

Mother clears her throat. "Actually, I was thinking of taking Dawn to Spence tomorrow, to see how the place looks like."

Elizabeth's head pipes up. "You're going to Spence?"

"Yes," I say.

Mother didn't force me to go, but I wanted to. There is a thrill to know that I will be learning where it all started, and it is better off than sitting in the house while mother makes her errands and long meetings for the order. Besides, if I want to continue entering the realms after my sixteenth birthday, I will have to be there.

"Then you shall take her another time," Genalyn says. "Lord and Lady Timmleton are very important and respectable people, and it will be a disgrace to them if the girl showed up in these clothes."

Mother glares at her. "Are you trying to imply something, Genalyn? Is there a problem with her clothes?"

"No problem. They are just not proper cloths for a woman, especially not one of her status and heritage. You have to remember that she is the well known Dr. Doyle's niece."

I blush, thinking it is good that Genalyn hasn't seen me wearing my trousers.

"Now, now – there is no need to argue," Uncle Tom says, Genalyn's remark obviously affecting his ego. "Genalyn will take Dawn tomorrow to do her womens' business, and Gemma will take her a different day to do…other business."

Genalyn leans back on her chair, smugly. She has won.

Mother shoots her a dirty look, and soon it turns into a glaring contest between the two of them. I find it is the right time to excuse myself from the dinner table.

I step outside and sit on the doorstep, breathing in the evening air. A few moments pass and the front door opens behind me.

"I have a feeling," Tom says, sitting besides me, "—but just a little feeling – that they don't really like each other. But it could be anything."

"Are you serious?!" I gape at him.

He looks at me sheepishly. "Like I said, it could be anything. It's just this little feeling that's probably wrong."

He is serious, I realize. I look towards the direction of the house, where Mother and Genalyn are, probably staring at each other until their eyes pop out. I wonder how it is that Tom cannot grasp what is so painfully obvious and under his nose. Maybe all men are like that.

"I just thought," he continues. "I thought they were a bit alike. They're both tall, and they have the same initials."

Same initials; wait untll Mother hears that. "Just give them time," I say.

"You're right," he says. "It's just… I don't know why, but it's important to me that your mother will like Genalyn."

"Did you like my father?" I ask this question as an instinct, and as the question comes out of me I realize how much I want to know more about my father; how much that part of me is missing.

His eyes avoid my gaze. "He was a good man."

"So you knew my father?"

He nods. "Not well, though."

He could tell me everything, I realize. There's an eagerness in me that dares me to ask, but a different emotion overpowers me – fear. I am afraid to hear his answer.

"Did you approve of him?" I ask instead.

He doesn't answer my question, and that is a good enough answer. I rest my chin in my hands and gaze into the dark street.

He stands to leave, and as he opens the door he turns to me.

"He was a good man, Dawn."

I nod. "Thank you."

He enters the house and then I am left by myself, sitting by the door and staring ahead, to where the lights no longer reach and the streets combine into a dark shadow. Through the corner of my eye I think I see something – a flicker of movement – but then it is gone, and I am left alone in the endless London night.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm sorry it's been such a long wait. I hope to make it up to you, my faithful readers, by giving you a nice, long, interesting (I hope) chapter. **

**Thanks for all those who've reviewed, you guys really make my day :)**

**This chap is dedicated to ****grahamcracker-xx****, whose latest review gave me the motivation to finally sit down and write this chapter.**

**grahamcracker-xx****,**** I hope this chappy answers your question...**

_/_/_/

CHAPTER THREE

_**~The stranger~**_

"Hold still, miss!"

"I'm _trying_."

I giggle as the seamstress's cold fingers brush against my skin. Right now she is busy circling measuring ropes around my waist, arms and bosom, shaking her head and mumbling in the process.

"When will the dresses be ready?" Genalyn asks. She is right behind me, watching all the horror like it's just a spectators' sport.

"She is quite small, and my dresses aren't set for her proportions. I should guess it would be about two weeks," she says and takes one last measure of my pitiful excuse for a chest.

"Good, before Christmas," Genalyn says.

"Two weeks? But then what will I wear tonight?" I ask.

"Oh," she says, waving her hand as if it didn't matter. "You can just wear the one I gave you."

I glance at the blue dress she has given me this morning, which hangs on one of the hooks on the wall. Genalyn had the maid shorten it so it could fit me.

I scowl inwardly, wondering why I needed to go on this shopping trip today instead of going to Spence with Mother, if the clothes anyways aren't going to be ready by tonight.

When the seamstress finishes I gingerly pull the blue dress on above my underclothes. The fabric is soft and shimmering, and though Genalyn made it clear that it is _not_ the best dress in her wardrobe, it is finer than anything I own.

We move to the front of the store, glancing at the different dresses. Genalyn is a furry of movement, picking out gown after dress which will be shortened and tailored to fit my size in two weeks' time.

I trace my fingers hesitantly over one of the dresses' lace. It is a silver, relatively plain dress, yet it has an elegancy to it. Against my will and better judgment I try to picture myself in it, the beautiful silver fabric glimmering around my legs. Though truly, I think it is beautiful, I just can't picture me – plain old Dawn – wearing this.

But I still can't stop that annoying, oh so girlish, giddy excitement of being in a room full of marvelous dresses, from dwelling in my stomach. Alas, London has sunk into me, too.

"Genalyn," I say, not believing I am going to ask this. "What about this dress?"

She studies it with one hand beneath her chin. "It is rather plain looking, but it is elegant. Would you like it?"

"Yes, I would," I say quietly.

She eyes it. "I suppose, if you want it. Add it to the cart," she says to the seamstress.

Genalyn is still looking around; picking various items of clothing I might need on a daily basis. I exit the store and wait for her to come out.

I look around. It is the luxurious part of London; or so I've been told. There are no households here, only different kinds of stores and shops. Hanging from every corner are various Christmas decorations and lights. Our carriage awaits us on the other side of the street. Next to it is another carriage, rather small and bulky, one I haven't noticed before. I notice our coachman, Mr. Anderson, stand beside the smaller carriage. He seems to be arguing with someone. I strain my eyes and stand on my toes, hoping to see better. There, almost hidden in the shadow of the two carriages, I see a tall silhouette of a man, a cloak surrounding him.

My stomach tightens as a spark of reorganization ignites in my mind. I stare at the figure, who has now moved out of the shadow, a brown cloak engulfing him. _Could it be?_

The man turns around and for a few moments our eyes meet from across the street. My eyes widen, and the side of his mouth curls upwards in a smirk. He tips his hat slightly in my direction, and then he slips away into the carriage and drives away, leaving our baffled coachman behind.

"Mr. Anderson," I say as I reach him, out of breath. "Who was that man?"

I hear Genalyn stepping behind me. "Dawn, it is not proper for a woman to run into the street like that!"

"I—"

"I don't need your explanations. Now, what is all this commotion about?"

Mr. Anderson clears his throat. "Mrs. Doyle, this man – he just appeared with his carriage out of nowhere. He said I hit it and that it was damaged, but I did no such thing, I swear!"

"Did he ask for any damage charge?" Genalyn asks icily.

"Y-yes," the coachman stutters. "But then he drove away, just like that."

"Well, it's nothing to worry about, then." Genalyn says and enters the carriage.

"Wait!" I turn to Mr. Anderson. He stops and raises his eyebrows.

"Excuse me," I say, remembering my manners. "But, this man – did he want anything else?"

"No, miss."

"Did you tell him anything else?" my voice is urgent, strained.

He is taken back by my tone of voice. "N-no, miss. Well, er – all I told him was where Mr. and Mrs. Doyle live, so he could come collect his charges. But I assure you, I didn't hit him! And if he claims I did, I'll take him to court and– "

My eyes widen and I feel the knot in my stomach tighten. "You told him where they live?"

"Yes, I – "

I shake him off and enter the carriage, my heart thumping too loudly for me to care for my rudeness. Dozens of different thoughts cross my mind as the carriage jerks to life. Who is he? How does he known me? Has he been following me and mother all the way from America? Is he a really friend, like he claims to be?

Something tells me he is not.

But as the carriage nears our destination and I can see my Uncle's house from the other end of the street, my mind clears and focuses on one thing, on one horrible realization, and it sends a chill down my spine.

_He knows where to find me. _

_/_/_/

The maid, Ronda, helps me secure my curls into a neat knot on the top of my head. I grimace; my hair is pulled back so tightly that my eyebrows rise uncontrollably.

"Could you loosen it a tad, please?" I ask through gritted teeth.

She looks at me incredibly and says that no, I ought to look presentable for Lord and Lady Timmlelton, and thus I should endure the pulsing pain at the roots of my hair.

I nod my head but secretly, when she leaves, loosen the knot and let a few curls fall out of it, tucking them behind my ear.

_There – now I look presentable_, I think and study my reflection. Genalyn's blue dress raps itself tightly around my waist and then falls like a waterfall around my legs and hip. I twirl and watch how the fabric moves, making it seem like it were ripples in the water.

I know I am not pretty, not in the way Genalyn is or the other fancy looking women I've seen so far around London. They are glamorous, beautiful in a conventional way; their proportions all right. I am just plain Dawn, the one with the funny name and long curls and skinny build. Short, fragile Dawn, who will always look at least two years younger than she really is.

But I'd like to think that I am special, just as Mother always told me when I was small. I do not care to be beautiful, not now; I just care to be loved, to be someone that matters.

I walk downstairs on the impossible shoes Genalyn purchased for me earlier. The table is already set, the dishes are shining and the house is spotless. Miss Sherol is making a few last adjustments on the girls' hair, and Genalyn sits with Uncle Tom on the couch. I glance around the room and then find Mother, who is looking out the window. She turns around and smiles in my direction.

I am dazzled by her appearance. Never have I seen Mother in such a fancy outfit. Her hair is not held tightly like mine but falls elegantly around her face. She looks a lot more natural than me in a fancy outfit, and I am forced to remind myself that this is how she dressed everyday all those years ago, when she lived here; that before she was just a plain baker working for food in New York, she was a lady with a reputation, one that curtsied before the queen.

She notices me staring and laughs. "Yes, I know, it's different. It's just something I fished out of the cupboard from years ago. I'm surprised it still fits me."

I am about to reply but then the doorman enters, announcing the arrival of our guests. Genalyn moves to the door to meet them.

"Oh, Lady Timmleton! It is such a delight to see you. I am glad you could make it," she exclaims. I smile inwardly. It is the same reception Genalyn has given us.

"It is good to see you too, Mrs. Doyle," I hear a feminine voice reply, and a deeper one adds, "we were delighted to come."

"Please, sit down," Genalyn motions to the table. "The maids will have dinner served soon."

I take a seat next to Mother, happy to start dinner, for my stomach is growling. It is then that I notice the girl. She is of average height, with blond curls and clear blue eyes. She seems about my age, maybe a bit older. She takes the seat across me and nods in my direction.

"Let me introduce my sister in law and her daughter. They came here from New York for a year. Genalyn and Dawn Doyle, these are Lord and Lady Timmleton, and this –" she says, motioning towards the girl, "– is their daughter, Penelope Timmleton."

Lady Timmleton clears her throat. "I'm sorry, what did you say the young girl's name is? Donna?"

"Er – no, it's Dawn," I correct her.

Penelope's eyes twinkle and her lip curls at the side. "Dawn, that is an interesting name," she says, and though her voice is polite, I suspect she is mocking me.

"Yes," Mother interferes. "It is a name that means much to me."

We sit down to eat. It seems the maids have gone beyond their limits this time; the food is truly delicious. It is a pleasant meal, and even Elizabeth and Amanda are, somehow, well mannered.

From what I understand, Lord Timmleton is the owner of a huge fortune and a jewelry company, and is somehow connected to the queen. I figure that is why Genalyn has been so excited about having them over. The couple asks Uncle Tom many questions about his job in the hospital, and he shares gossip about his different insane – so has Lady Timmleton referred to them – patients.

Somehow I feel that both sides have an interest in this social meeting. The Timmletons – in Tom's reputation; and Genalyn and Tom – in the couple's business, I suppose.

I wonder if it is possible for people here to have others over just because they want to spend time with them.

Besides all that, I still try to enter the conversation, though without much success. I am unaccustomed to these peoples' manners, to their different phrases and meanings. I feel as though I do not belong.

Usually, it easy for me to strike a conversation. I consider myself a friendly person, and even Greta has told me many times that I talk too much. But at this moment I cannot fit in the conversation, I am afraid to say something wrong or not in place.

Besides, what happened today still lurks in my mind, and I cannot concentrate on much of anything else. I shall tell Mother about it, when I find time with her alone.

"May you pass me the salt please, Lady Timmleton?" Amanda asks sweetly. I am appalled by her sudden politeness. What happened to the loud screeching girl who had tormented me only yesterday?

"Why yes, sweetheart," Lady Timmleton answers.

With a polite "thank you" Amanda takes the salt and shakes the tiniest amount of it onto her food. I stare at her and her sister. They might be obnoxious, loud, annoying _brats, _but they do know their manners when there are guests around.

They sit straight, their chin up and their elbows never showing on the table; never saying a word out of place. It scares me, and for a moment I prefer the girls I met yesterday than the well-mannered, quiet, robotic girls I see today. I give Amanda a questioning look and she, ever so sweetly, kicks me under the table without anyone noticing.

Okay, I take that back.

"I understand you'll be staying here for a year?" I hear Lord Timmleton say.

"Yes, for now. We might be staying longer," Mother answers.

"And your husband, is he staying in New York?" Lady Timmleton asks.

There is an uncomfortable silence for a moment in which I hold my breath. Then Mother shakes her head sadly and says, "No, he had passed away just a few months before Dawn was born."

"I am terribly sorry to hear that."

Mother nods. "Thank you. It was such a shock for me, but when Dawn was born, it was like a new light shown on my life. That is the source of her name."

"I see," she says. "What was his name?"

"Mr. Smith."

This is the story Mother tells everyone; that she met my father in New York, married him, bore his child, and then he died. I know it is not true, and even though she herself has never really offered information about him, I have a feeling that there is more to the story.

After all, Tom said he was a good man.

"And I understand you've taken your maiden name as your own married one?" Lady Timmleton asks. _Why_, I think, _she's a nosy one._

"Yes."

"Yet you're not aware of the speculations it may cause you?"

Mother narrows her eyes. "I am fully aware, and I do not care. I do not want my daughter to live constantly in the shadow of a dead man."

_No, that's not the reason. You have something to hide, something you don't want others to know. Not even me._

"What sort of place is New York?" Penelope Timmleton asks.

My heads pipes up. "Oh, it's really different from here, but I love it. The buildings aren't all in the same shape, it is always busy, things are always happening – it's magnificent."

Penelope wrinkles her nose slightly. "Well, it doesn't sound like such a marvelous place."

"I assure you, if you were ever there, you wouldn't say that. New York has a special magic to it. Also London is magical, but in a different, more… elegant way," I conclude.

"Magic? There is no such thing as that," she laughs softly and I swear, if she weren't so proper, I bet she'd snicker.

"I meant it in a _metaphorical_ way," I mumble to myself, but don't let her hear. She probably wouldn't understand, anyways.

"Is Miss Doyle going to be studying anything at your time in London?" Lord Timmleton asks.

"She is to go to finishing school after the New Year," Mother answers.

"Why only then?"

"I wanted to give her time to get accustomed to London and to catch up on the subjects the other girls have been learning for years."

"Which school is she going to attend?" Lady Timmleton asks.

"Spence," I say.

"Spence – a fine place. Our Penelope also attends Spence. She has taken a few days vacation to visit us, and then she'll be back there until the holiday's vacation."

"I guess I'll see you there," I smile at Penelope.

She doesn't smile back.

"It is known to be a traditional school, teaches the girls what they need to know. Though I must say, they have ruined their reputation when they agreed to have that boys' school built near it," Lady Timmleton says.

Mother shifts in her chair. I glance outside; the night has fallen. Tea is served and then we share our goodbyes and the Timmletons leave.

Genalyn falls to the couch, smiling. She is obviously satisfied of the evening's events. I myself am happy I managed not to make a fool of myself and ruin the dinner.

Well, not completely.

"Mother! Wait, I have something I need tell you," I call after Mother, who is about to head upstairs.

She turns around. "Can it wait a few minutes? I just haven't worn a corset for years, and this one is literally chocking me."

"Yes, I guess it can."

I walk outside to get some fresh air and sit on the doorstep. The moon, full and intimidating, glows high above my head in the London night. I hear a rustling coming from the garden.

I turn around and head towards the garden. It sounds like an animal of some sort, maybe a cat.

"Is anyone there?" I call out.

I step forward and hear the sound of a leaf crunching. I raise my foot; there is nothing under it.

_I_ didn't step on anything.

"Don't move."

I turn around sharply and inhale quickly. Standing only a few inches behind me is a tall man, his voice familiar.

"I will scream, and everyone in the house will hear," I hiss.

The stranger's right side of his mouth curls into a mocking grin. "Now, you wouldn't want to do that. All I want is to share a word with you."

He takes a shining object from beneath his coat. A chill runs down my spine.

It's a knife.

I calculate my options. I could run into the house quickly without him harming me. I brace my legs to run.

He notices this. "You can run, but by the time you reach the house and get someone I'll be gone. But remember, I know where you live. I could always come in the middle of the night – "

I try not to imagine that. "Okay, speak."

He gives me a satisfied grin. "A good thing we understand each other. I've been sent to give you a message."

_A message? Someone sent him, but whom?_

He continues. "We know your mother is planning to take you to the realms when you turn sixteen. You are going to refuse."

What?! Refuse? After all this time I've been waiting?

He waits for my reaction, but I don't let it show. "You are not going to enter the realms. You are going to tell her you do not want to enter, and you're not going to tell 'er why. That's all I have to tell ye now—" he traces the blade of his knife "—but if you care for your mother, I wouldn't tell 'er 'bout this meeting, eh? Don't worry, I'll know if you tell her."

"Who are you and why are you following me? Who sent you?"

He clacks his tong and places the flat of his blade on my cheek. The metal is cold against my skin. I hold my breath, not moving.

"Don't worry yer pretty little head about that. Just remember, we are a lot more dangerous than you could ever imagine. I'll be watching you. _We'll_ be watching you." He presses the blade harder to my skin. "We'll know if you define my words, and then there will be consequences."

I feel the weight of the blade lift from my cheek and then he is gone, scrambling into the street without making a sound.

I stand there, pressing my finger lightly to where the blade has just rested. I can feel his warning on the numbness his cold knife has left on my cheek. I stay there for a few moments, trying to calm my racing heart, and then I scramble inside.

"Dawn?" Mother asks as I enter the house. "Is everything alright? You're shaking."

I am about to tell her what happened and then remember myself. "Um – y-yes, I'm just cold. I think I'll go to bed."

I start to head upstairs, but then Mother calls after me.

"Wait, Dawn! Didn't you want to tell me something?"

I turn around and see her questioning face. The man's warning echoes in my mind.

_We will know._

"It's nothing," I say.

_/_/_/

**hmmm… someone doesn't want our heroin to enter the realms! But why? I'll leave that for your imagination..**

**Anyways, I'd really like to know what you think of this chapter. I think it has slightly more happening in it than the last ones, but things really start moving in the next two chapters… I hope.. So did you like it? If you have any suggestions I'll be happy to hear (well, see) them **

**And just for clarification (if you forgot chap 1, it **_**has**_** been a long time): the stranger is the same man Dawn met in chapter one by her doorstep.**

**And about ****grahamcracker-xx****'s question:**

**I was also wondering if Dawn is a good name, but then I figured: hey, it's Gemma – she doesn't do exactly what society wants her to do, so the name doesn't really need to fit that time of history… and besides, I felt that Gemma was feeling pretty down since the whole Kartik episode, so now that she has a baby from Kartik (oops, spoiler! Haha…It's not really mentioned clearly, but I figured you guys already guessed he is daddy), the baby resembles the light that comes after the dark night. (hence her name.) **

**If you are still reading until now, you are really my hero. You should let me know you read till here so I could give you a virtual lollypop next chapter :)**

**yours till the next writer's block,**

**Mariaty**


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: I now present you with chapter four, in which I will introduce some new characters, some old ones, and Spence. Yayyyy… **

**And yeah Genalyn's not on pills XD**

**A yummy lollipop goes to UndercoverHufflepuff! yay! Next time, my faithful readers, I will reward you with ice-cream! If you review, that is… (Yeah, yeah, manipulative, I know. Haven't I mentioned already that I'm evil?)**

_/_/_/

CHAPTER FOUR

**~Spence~**

---

"_But that's okay,_

_They're just afraid to change."_

Blind Melon, "Change"

_/_/_/

The grey castle of Spence Academy for Young Ladies towers above the trees in the distance. As our carriage nears it, the anticipation in my stomach spreads. It is a striking sight. Little tuffs of moss escape through the vast stones' cracks and rows of identical rusted windows decorate the upper part of the castle. Only the eastern part of the castle does not bare the mark of the years yet. Its renewed walls, though they are restored exactly as they were before the fateful fire, are gleaming white against the molding grey walls of the rest of the academy. Yet despite its age, there is a glorious magic in its tall, looming stature.

The carriage comes to an abrupt stop in front of the academy. Standing at its entrance is an old lady. Her grey hair is tied tightly at the nape of her neck, and though she is many years older than me, she stands as straight as a needle. Only her arms, which rest stiffly at her sides, uncover her uneasiness.

She opens her mouth, and the wrinkles framing her mouth shift as she says, "Welcome back, Gemma Doyle."

"Mrs. Nightwing," Mother says.

The lady's lips curls into a slight smile. "Lillian, please."

Mother nods. "Lillian."

Mother steps forward and they share an awkward embrace. They swiftly retreat from each other, and Mrs. Nightwing's eyes flash on me.

"The little Miss Doyle, I presume?"

I nod, "Yes, ma'am."

"Mrs. Nightwing, for you. Or headmistress, in a few weeks time." Her gaze is intimidating as Mother described, but there is a gleam of amusement in it now.

We enter through the large doors. "Here is the dining hall," Mrs. Nightwing says, "It is lunch time now."

Girls in identical white clothes are sitting in long rows by the tables, their forks hitting the plate in an almost silent rhythm. As we enter, the girls' eyes dart to us. Near the middle of the older girls' table I spot Penelope's blond curls. She turns, acknowledging me, and I smile slightly in her direction.

"Girls," Mrs. Nightwing announces, "I'd like you to meet Miss Doyle. She will be joining us in a few weeks' time."

The girls stare at us. I smile sweetly, not sure if I am supposed to say anything.

"Hello, I can't wait to learn here," I say.

The younger girls giggle at my words, while a few of the older ones roll their eyes and return to their meal. A girl with brown hair and big brown eyes smiles in my direction. Something catches my eye. At the corner of the room there is a group of maybe twenty girls, whispering among each other. A raven haired girl, obviously the dominant one, raises her head. Her steel dark blue eyes bear into mine.

"Follow me, I will show you to my office," Mrs. Nightwing says.

As we turn I steel one last glance at the girls in the corner. They are all staring in our direction, and with a jolt I realize they are not staring at me. They are staring at Mother.

I glance around as we walk. The place is quite old and is decorated with the last century's style rather than the current one. Being in this place makes me feel like I stepped in a whirlpool of time.

We step into her office and she closes the door softly behind us.

"Sit, please."

We take our seat in front of her desk while she sits behind it. There is a moment of silence before Mrs. Nightwing begins.

"Well," she clears her throat. "It is a pleasure to see you, Gemma. There is much making up to be done."

"Yes. It is a pleasure to see you too, Lillian. The years haven't done you any harm."

The headmistress chuckles. "Oh, don't flatter me, Gemma. The mirror doesn't lie. I am getting older everyday."

"As we all do."

"Yes. Now," she says, gesturing with her hand, "enough about me. How has your stay been so far?"

"Most pleasant, I am staying at Thomas's house."

"Good. And you, Miss Doyle," she says, referring to me. "How are you enjoying London so far?"

The question catches me unaware. "It's, er, really nice here. Fascinating, actually – although I hadn't had much time to see most of it." My knee bounces slightly, indicating the wanting my legs have been feeling to run and explore, something I haven't done yet in the week we've been here.

"Some parts of London are best stayed hidden," she says. "From what I have read from your Mother's letters, you are quiet an explorer. You should be notified now that in Spence we do not tolerate wandering around out of the grounds."

I nod. "I understand, Mrs. Nightwing."

"Just because I attracted trouble doesn't mean Dawn will," Mother says, smiling. "She's a good girl."

"I have no doubt about that," Mrs. Nightwing says. Her eyes rest on me. They grow wide. "When I look at you it is as though I am seeing an image from the past," she says, shaking her head slightly.

"I don't look so much like Mother," I say. "Only the eyes are alike."

Her eyes shift slightly. "Yes, they hold the same intensity your mother had in her eyes when I first saw her."

They exchange a few more words, Mother telling Mrs. Nightwing about our house in New York, our store and our neighbor Greta.

"Enough of this talk," Mrs. Nightwing says at last. "It is time for business. I suppose there was a reason for your visit today other than having Miss Doyle familiar with the school?"

Mother nods. "Yes, I came to talk of the Order."

"So I have thought."

"From our letter correspondence I understand things are going well, as planned. I wanted to have a direct conversation about it, so we could plan ahead."

"Well, as you know, there is a group of girls which meets every week and enters the realms under the supervision of Miss Gray. They learn about the realms, its creatures, and how to control their power."

"Good," Mother says. "I've just recently entered the realms and renewed our alliances with the creatures there. Everything seems to be in order."

Mrs. Nightwing smiles. "It seems I can finally sleep with peace at nights. The realms are quiet, the Order is rebuilding itself, the East Wing is now fully restored so the Order can enter the realms from there, and it is all thanks to you."

"I was only cleaning up the mess I have made," Mother says.

Mrs. Nightwing shakes her head. "Nothing of that ugly past is your fault, Gemma."

"But if Mother hadn't, if I hadn't—" Mother starts.

"No, Gemma. That is all in the past. What is important now is that you restored the order to the realms," Mrs. Nightwing says. "Although there is one thing I do not agree with you about, and that is the Rakshana. They have betrayed us in the past; I cannot understand why you are helping rebuild them, too."

"It is necessary that the Rakshana exist. For years the Rakshana has coexisted with the Order; it is a balance we mustn't break. We need them," Mother says.

"But why build a boys' school, and so near Spence?"

"It is the perfect disguise, just as much as Spence is a disguise. The Rakshana can teach their recruits there under the disguise of earning an education. It is better than what has been in the past. Boys were then taken away from their family at a young age to receive the Rakshana's training. "

"Yet still," Mrs. Nightwing says. "It is a disgrace for Spence. Do you know what it has done to our reputation? If it weren't for our famous skills at turning young girls into ladies, the school would be empty right now."

"I didn't see any lack of girls, before," Mother says, looking around. "Besides, it seems the place is the same as I left it, apart from the East Wing. Have you not considered any of my suggestions to change this place?"

"I have, Gemma. And I did change some things around here. We have a library here, for instance."

"But you still do not teach girls how to think for themselves, do you?"

Mrs. Nightwing sighs. "I tried, Gemma. But it is not so easy to change such a long tradition. We have a reputation to worry about, also. Besides, I am too old to change things around."

I look out the rusty window and see the forest and the lake. Beyond the forest, at maybe twenty minutes' walk, I see the top of a brown building, presumably the boys' school they were talking about. Mother is right; this place looks as though it hasn't been touched for years. The lake looks beautiful, and though it is cold, it reflects the little rays of sun shifting through the clouds.

"It is never too late to change," Mother says.

Mrs. Nightwing shakes her head, "No Gemma, I am not that type of person. I am a restorer, not a changer. Perhaps that is why my magic has died all those years ago."

"You've been more help to the Order than many others. It doesn't matter how much magic one has."

"I know. But I am not a changer. You are," Mrs. Nightwing says. She turns to me.

"The girls meet in the East Wing every week. You will be joining them once you turn sixteen."

_Once you turn sixteen. _With a shudder I remember the stranger's warning. I haven't told Mother about it yet. Earliar today I decided I would, but then I found a warning note on my pillow. _Remember our warning_, it said. I don't know who he is or what he wants from me. All I know is that he works for someone, and that he was in my room.

I locked my window tightly before we left to Spence.

"I don't," I start. "I – I'm not sure if I want to do this…"

"Do what?"

I swallow. "I don't know if I really want to enter the realms."

Mother's eyes grow wide. "What do you mean, Dawn? You've been asking me for years about entering the realms."

"I just – I don't know if I'm ready. I'm afraid I'll make a mistake," I say.

"Do not worry about it," Mother says, her eyes softening. "You're ready; you've been ready for years."

A wave of affection fills my stomach. Oh, I really do love Mother. I will find a way to work things out. Some crazy, threatening stranger isn't going to stop me from entering the realms.

"You've taught your daughter well," Mrs. Nightwing says.

Mother nods, her eyes clouding. "I do not want her to repeat the mistakes I have made."

"Power can blind even the greatest of people," the headmistress replies. "Do not fret yourself about it, Gemma. Now, there are a few issues I must discuss with you—" her gaze turns to me, "— privately."

"I do not like to keep secrets from her," Mother says.

"Yet you do, do you not, Gemma?"

Mother doesn't reply. _Yes, you do, _my mind whispers silently. _Why won't you tell me about him, Mother?_

All I know of my father is that she met him in India, that she loved him very much, and that he died before I was born. Other than that, I do not know anything. I have asked about him when I was younger, but as the years went by I learned not to approach that subject, and today I am too afraid to ask.

"Very well," Mother says at last. She turns to me, "Dawn, would you please leave the room for a few moments. You can go look around, if you want. I'll meet you by the carriage."

I nod. "Okay."

I leave the room and close the door behind me. Through the closed door I hear the two ladies' muffled voices. I walk down the hall and pass the different years' photographs. There is year 1872; the photo is yellow and curls at the ends. Once it was hidden, for it was a source of shame for the school. I stare at the names written at the lower portion of the photograph. I find what I was looking for. There, five names to the left, is her name; Mary Dowd. My finger traces the girls' faces on the top row until I find her. She resembles Mother a lot, and her piercing green eyes are a trait I inherited, too. Sitting next to her is the blurred face of Sarah Reese-Toome. I shudder at the thought of the murder she has committed a short time after this picture was taken.

I continue walking. _Eighteen-seventy-three, eighteen-eighty, eighteen-ninety... eighteen-nintey-six_. I stare at the photograph. There, in the right corner, is Mother. Felicity holds her hand tightly. Ann is not in the picture; she is already off to find her luck in the acting world. But what intrude me the most are Mother's eyes. They are hallow, empty; staring into the vastness of the camera's lens. I glance at the date the picture was taken. _May, 1896. _

_What happened to you, Mother? _

A quick calculation tells me she must have been at the beginning of her pregnancy then. But she didn't know at the time. Only when she moved to America did she find out.

I walk down the stairs. The girls are no longer eating. I remember the beautiful lake I have seen from the office's window, and I decide I shall go there.

The mid afternoon sun tickles my curls as I step outside. I squint, adjusting my eyes to the brightness outside.

I reach the lake. It truly is beautiful at this time of day, with the sun bouncing off of it. I wonder if here, too, the lakes freeze at winter time.

_A good thing I didn't agree to wear those stockings Genalyn tried to give me, _I muse as I remove my shoes and socks. I put my foot in the clear water. It is freezing. With a yelp I lift my foot. The water is a lot colder than it seems. Perhaps the sun is playing tricks on me. Gradually, I slowly manage to place both my feet it the water. It is cold, but refreshing. _Now I have a place to go when classes are boring, _I think.

I am lost in my thoughts when I hear leaves rustle behind me. My head snaps and I turn around. There, coming out of the thicket, is a young man. He is wearing colorful clothes and his blond hair looks almost white in the sun's blaze. I find myself staring at him, and he turns around, his grey eyes meeting mine.

It is an awkward state and I find I have an urge to say something; anything.

"Hello."

His eyes grow wide as if surprised I have spoken to him. He shakes his head slightly.

"Hello," he says.

There is silence between us for a moment and I wonder why I had approached him.

"It's a nice day, isn't it?" I say. "Probably one of the last sunny days of the season."

He nods slowly. A small smile forms at his lips as he notes my bare feet.

"Aren't you cold?" He says, gesturing towards them.

I raise my feet from the water and hastily work on putting on my socks.

"Actually, no," I say, my cheeks reddening. "I like the water. Sorry about interrupting your walk, you can continue going right now."

He raises his eyebrows but starts to walk in the other direction. After a few steps he stops and turns around.

"You go to Spence?" He asks, looking at the castle in the distance.

I finish putting on my socks and start working on my shoes. "No. Actually, not yet. I will, after the New Year."

He nods slowly. I sigh; I have the habit of talking too much; not to mention talking to complete strangers.

I remember the boys' school Mother spoke of. "You go to the boys' school?" I ask.

"No," he says.

"Oh."

"Well, it has been nice talking to you—"'

"Dawn," I say.

"Evan," he offers. "I should be going." And with that he turns once again, and walks out of the clearing.

I finish with my shoes and stand up, patting my cloths to rid of the dust. I scold myself for speaking with a stranger and for being so bold. In New York it wouldn't matter as much, but here I would have to remember my manners. I am a lady, after all.

_/_/_/

I sit outside by the carriage, waiting for Mother to come. I watch as the girls run in groups out of the castle, giggling and talking. A group of girls approach me. I spot Penelope at the center of them.

"Hello, Miss Doyle," Penelope says, smiling. "It's a pleasure to see you again."

"We _can't wait_ to have you join us," one of the girls says, mocking me. Her words cause the group to giggle.

"Oh, enough of that, Celia," Penelope scolds. She is obviously the leader.

She sits down next to me. "I have been at Miss Doyle's place for dinner a few nights ago. My parents and I had such a pleasant time. Did you know she is the niece of Doctor Thomas Doyle?"

The girl, Celia, mumbles in response. The other girls come and sit with us, forming a circle.

"You'll be learning in our class, Miss Doyle," a brown haired girl, the one who smiled at me before, says.

"Please," I say, smiling. "Just call me Dawn."

A few girls gasp. The brown haired girl rolls her eyes. "There is no need to be so proper now. There is no teacher around." There is the slightest hint of an Irish accent in her voice.

Celia narrows her eyes. "Who are you to know of being proper, Jennifer dear?" she says. "The only reason you are here is because your aunt—"

"Girls! Don't fight in front of Dawn, you'll scare her away," Penelope says. Celia stops short, while Jennifer rolls her eyes once again. I'm afraid those huge brown eyes will just roll out of their sockets in this pace.

Penelope points to each girl in the circle. "This is Susie," she points to a tawny haired girl with a pointy nose, "Carol," a girl with an oval face and eyebrows curved in the shape of two half moons; "Celia," the blond haired girl with the dull curls nods slightly; "and Jennifer."

"Jenny," the girl corrects.

"Only the five of you are in the class?" I ask.

Penelope's eyes narrow. "No." her eyes travel to a far corner, where a group of girls sit huddled together. "There are a few others. But they are part of a little group and do not let others join them."

"What do you mean?"

"They call themselves the Order and walk around the school with their nose held high. They think they are so special, but who are they, really? Just a group of attention seekers."

I glance towards the group of girls. "What do they do in their… group?"

"Oh, no one really knows. I don't think they do anything special, really."

I nod. "You don't like them, am I correct?"

"No one in the school likes them," she says. "Unless they are in their group, that is."

"And –" I remember the young man I have seen before. "What about the boys' school?"

"You mean the S. Foster Academy for Young Men?" Jenny asks.

"If that is what the school is called."

"Well, if your mother is worried about it—"

"I know my mother didn't like the idea of me learning so near a bunch of adolescent boys," Susie pipes in.

"But we are ordered not to come near them," Carol says.

"Yet we still see them around here a few times a week," Penelope says. "In the chapel, for instance. And sometimes we see them running around in the forest," she adds excitedly.

"I spoke to one of them the other day," Susie says, very suddenly.

The girls gasp very audibly and turn their heads in her direction.

Susie's cheeks grow red. "He was quite charming. I had dropped my handkerchief and he returned it to me."

"Oh!" Carol's face brightens with delight. "Did he say anything?"

"He said – 'why, lovely lady, you have dropped your handkerchief', and then when he looked at my face all he could do was stare at my beauty and then –"

"Then?" Carol's eyes are bulging.

"Then he proposed to me. He said he couldn't live one more minute without having me by his side. But I refused. I had to, really. He wasn't nearly as handsome as he should've been to reach my standards."

"How scandalous!" Carol gasps.

"Funny, I was sure you were going to say he threw up," Jenny mutters.

"Pardon me?"

"What for?"

"Repeat what you've just said, Jennifer Wilson!"

"But Susie dear, I haven't said a thing."

"I saw your lips moving!"

"I was breathing!"

"Through your mouth?"

I watch wide-eyed as the girls continue to argue. _So this is what English ladies are like, _I muse. A smile plays on the tips of my lips.

"Girls!" I hear a voice from inside. "Your break is over."

The girls sigh simultaneously and head towards the castle. I wave in their direction until they are swallowed within the castle's walls.

"It looks like you made some friends," I hear a voice from behind me.

My head turns sharply in the direction of the voice. "You," I mutter under my breath.

The man's lip curls into a smile. "Expecting someone else, Miss Doyle?"

"What are you here for?" I demand.

"Just making sure everything's going according to our plan," he says.

"Our plan, you say? Who do you work for?"

"That is none of your concern."

"It seems like this big _plan _concerns me, so I have all the right to know," I snap.

The man opens his mouth but then closes it hastily. He glances at the academy. "I shall be going," he says. "Remember our warning."

And then he is off, running into the shadows of the forest.

I wait a few minutes before heading in his direction. I walk slowly and quietly, fallowing the footsteps he formed in the ground. The footsteps head a tad deeper into the forest and then take a sharp turn out of it and towards the hill. I fallow them up the hill. They come to a stop in front of the chapel.

I wait a few moments, wondering what I should do next. Finally, curiosity takes over, and I push the handle of the chapel.

The chapel is dark and, luckily, deserted. I look around. Big mosaics are painted on the windows in lavish colors. A painting of an angle with a green creature's head catches my eye. I put my hand to the angel's head.

"You helped my mother, didn't you?" I say quietly. "She told me of the talking windows. Have you seen a man, maybe of the age of forty, walk in here?"

There is no reply. I sigh; perhaps I have no magic after all.

He is not here, that is certain. The air is still and lifeless, and if he were here he would've heard me by now.

Something catches my eye on the floor. It is a piece of crumpled blue fabric. I unfold it. A drawing of a skull crossed by a sword fills the fabric. It rings a bell in my mind, but I cannot quite recall what it is. I tuck the fabric in my blouse and head out of the chapel.

_/_/_/

Mother is waiting for me by the carriage. The sun is beginning to set, filling the sky with shades of peach.

"Where have you been?"

"Just looking around," I answer.

We enter the carriage.

"Dawn?"

"Hmm?"

Mother turns around and looks at me. "I fully meant what I said today. You are ready to enter the realms, more prepared than I have ever been."

I smile. "Thank you."

She smiles; a sad, small smile. "You're growing up so fast, Dawn."

"No, I'm not. I'm still short."

She laughs. "You've grown a bit in the past year."

"Have I?"

"Yes," she nods. "Maybe one day you'll be as tall as I am."

"You know I'll never reach your height, Mother. It is impossible!"

"Are you saying I'm abnormally tall?" She asks.

"No, I'm saying I'm abnormally short."

Mother gazes out the window. "Don't say that."

"What, that I'm short?"

"No," she says. "That it's impossible. Anything is possible, if you work for it."

"But what if I don't have the power to make things possible?" I ask.

"Then you must find it."

I gaze out the window at the rolling scenery. I think of the fabric tucked in my blouse. I will find a way to change this situation, I decide.

_/_/_/

**A/N: so the original plan was to stop at about midway through this chapter... But then I just continued writing and – wallah! – three and a half more pages! Oopsies… **

**R&R :)**


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hellooo. Long time no see, eh? Sorry for the extremely long wait, I have been occupied with all kinds of stuff… Anyways, I promised myself I'll try and finish this fic, and really, I think it has a pretty okay plot so I don't want to let it go…**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Gemma Doyle trilogy, nor do I own the book "Crime and Punishment" which is mentioned in this chapter. It belongs to Dostoevsky. **

**Thank you for the people who've reviewed so far, it means a lot to me! **

**So with no further delays, I present you with the next chapter…**

_/_/_/

CHAPTER FIVE

_**~The Other Side of London~**_

---

"_So how can you tell me you're lonely,  
And say for you that the sun don't shine?  
Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London  
I'll show you something to make you change your mind"_

Ralph McTell, "Streets of London".

_/_/_/

I am still half asleep when Amanda's head emerges from behind my bedroom door.

"Dawn!" Her excited voice wakes me to my senses. I rub my eyes.

"Amanda, remember what your mother told you about knocking?" I scold gently. Her eyes widen as if caught doing something forbidden.

"I—" she stutters.

I smile slightly in her direction. In the three weeks I've been here I've gotten used to my two cousins, and somehow grew fond of them. The initial shock I have received upon first meeting them has worn out. It is quite sweet, really, the way the two of them, especially Amanda, try to win my attention.

"How about we try doing this all over again?" I say.

The girl nods swiftly and closes the door. A few moments later there is a soft knock on the door.

I smile. "Who is it?"

There is a moment's hesitation. "Santa."

"Really? But it is not Christmas quite yet."

I hear muffled laughter from behind the door. "Yes, ho!"

"If so, then of course you may come in!"

I swing the door open. Amanda stands there, her cheeks puffed. I ruffle her hair slightly.

"Why, Santa. What have you brought me for the holiday?"

Amanda tilts her head to the side, thinking. Her face then brakes into a smile and she raps her arm around me.

"A hug!" She announces.

"Thank you," I pat her head, smiling. "It is the best gift I've received so far!"

I watch her satisfied reaction with triumph.

"Mother wants to go on a few errands today. She let me come, and she said you could come too!" She announces excitedly.

"That's great," I say, yawning.

"Are you tired?"

"A bit," I say. I've stayed awake late last reading the last pages of _Crime and Punishment._ Actually, for the past two weeks I've been mostly reading books and studying for what I am to learn at Spence. The man who told me not to enter the realms hasn't shown up in these weeks, either. Perhaps he has forgotten about me.

That is what I tell myself, at least.

_/_/_/

At breakfast Genalyn clears her throat very loudly. For a second I am afraid she has choked on a piece of her omelet.

"Dawn," she turns to me, her voice cheerful and showing no sign of trouble in breathing. I sense Mother glaring at her from the other side of the table.

"What do you want from her now, Genalyn?" She says.

Genalyn's eyes fix on Mother. "Always jumping to conclusions, aren't you, Gemma dear?"

"Well you were using that tone of voice. It's obvious you want something," Mother states.

Genalyn chooses to ignore her and turns back to me. "All I was going to ask you was if you wanted to accompany Miss Sharol and the girls into town today. They are going to go on a few errands."

"Yes, Amanda has told me about it this morning," I say. "But aren't you coming to do some errands, too?"

"Yes, I am going a tad later, but Miss Sharol will be with the girls while I go on my errands."

"Oh," I say. I feel a bit sorry for Amanda; she seemed so excited at the prospect of going out with her mother.

"Well, would you like to come?" Genalyn asks.

"Sure!" I say, smiling. My feet desperately want to step outside, and I won't mss out on this opportunity. Even if it means I have to go around London with two annoying little girls.

We finish our breakfast and Miss Sharol, Amanda, Elizabeth and I are about to step out the door when Genalyn stops us.

"Dawn!" She exclaims, horrorstruck. "Its December, you will freeze dressed like that!"

She pulls me to the living room and drops a heavy fur coat on my shoulders.

"That's much better," she says. Then she leans closer and lowers her voice. "I would like it if you watched Miss Sharol, since I cannot come with you. Just make sure she doesn't take anything—"

"Genalyn, what makes you think—" I stammer.

"Do not worry about it, Dawn," she smiles. "Now, you should go, you are keeping the girls waiting."

_Is that why she wanted me to tag along_, I muse as our carriage crosses the streets of London. _So I could watch Sharol and report her every move?_

I glance at her. She seems like an honest girl, not much older than me. Maybe she is a little timid and has trouble controlling the girls, but that doesn't mean she shouldn't be trusted. I sigh; this world, will I ever understand it?

_/_/_/

The normally gray streets of London our flourished with the festive scents of Christmas. Luxury shops are advertizing their upcoming holiday sales, little stores are decorated with colorful lights and ladies and gentlemen are crowding the streets, chatting about their morning or their latest purchase. We are in the midst of it all, jumping from shop to shop like a wave guided by Amanda and Elizabeth. Occasionally, an – "oh, I'd love to have this" or "this is just perfect!" would be voiced, and then purses would be opened and money would be exchanged.

Eventually, as it has begun, the tide lowers, and we find ourselves sitting on one of the benches with two out of breath yet satisfied girls.

"where shall we go next?" I ask Miss Sharol.

"Is there anything you wish to purchase, Miss Doyle?" she asks me. The sun makes her freckles decorating the bridge of her nose stand out against her pale skin. Really, she is no more than a few years older than me.

"Just Dawn, please," I say. "There is no need for such formality with me, I'm just an ordinary girl. We could even be friends!"

She looks taken back for a moment before her face breaks into a grin. "Do you make a habit out of it, trying to befriend maids and servants?" she laughs.

"And what is wrong with that?" I smile. She shakes her head slightly and I wonder how one could've ever suspected her to commit such a crime as stealing. It is just not right that one should be mistrusted for the sake of his or her status.

I let my eyes close for a few moments, breathing in the London air in slow, refreshing gulps.

"It is time we go home," Sharol says after we've been sitting on the bench for a while. She picks up the basket of purchases and heads towards our carriage, the girls in tow behind her. They turn around, expecting me to follow.

"I think I'll walk home, I remember the way," I say. Jumping from shop to shop has not quenched my hunger to explore.

Sharol hesitates. "I am not sure that is advisable, Miss."

"I can take care of myself," I assure her. "I feel suffocated in the carriage and in the house, surely you'd understand."

She smiles slightly. "All right, but be back before dark," she says, her nanny tone catching in.

"Miss Sharol, there is no need to speak to me like I am Amanda!" I joke.

She laughs slightly and enters the carriage. "Goodbye, Miss!"

I lay back slightly on the bench as the carriage drives away, wondering where I shall go next. From the corner of my eye I see something rustling in the bushes. I hear a strangled squeak. After a few moments I hear it again. And again. And again.

_Meow._

I lean down and gaze into the bushes. There is a little black thing curled within itself. It is no bigger than my head, really, but it makes the loudest noise.

"Oh, you're so cute!" I say.

I lean over to reach it, my arm outstretched. The kitten retreats a little, but then slightly sniffs me and allows me to hold it. It looks up at me, revealing piercing green eyes.

"You really are adorable," I say, petting her softly. "Did your mother abandon you?"

The kitten meows. It is staring at me and somehow, I find her gaze accusing.

"Hey, are you staring at my coat? It's not cat fur, don't worry. And I wouldn't have worn it hadn't Genalyn forced me to," I say in my defense.

The kitten closes her eyes halfway. _Yeah right, _she seems to be saying.

"Fine, don't believe me," I say. But I notice she is shivering so I place her in the pocket of my coat. She doesn't seem to complain, even though it _is _fur.

It is from there – hidden behind the bushes – that I hear a familiar voice, low and horse, which sends shivers down my spine.

_The stranger! Has he come to get me, now that I'm all alone?!_

I hear another voice, noble and commanding, and my heart calms down as I realize he was not calling for me. No, he is talking to someone. He does not even know I am here!

I crouch down lower, heart pounding, straining my ears.

"… According to plan," the other man is saying.

The stranger reply is muffled. "… Two weeks…"

"… crucial…"

"I understand…"

I lean in closer to the bushes, so I can hear them better.

"You were supposed to watch her, Asif!" the other man says.

_Asif. So the stranger has a name. _

"I am sorry. I was occupied…"

"Do you understand what will happen if she enters now?" the man cuts him off.

"Yes. But I scared her enough, she won't be entering."

"Do you understand that we need her? You were supposed to gain her trust, not scare her completely!"

I am perplexed. There is someone who is commanding the stranger – commanding Asif. He is speaking to him as though he is his servant. He is empowering over the man who has threatened me with a knife. Who is this man?!

I raise my head slightly so my eyes can see above the bushes. The two men are standing not far from where I was sitting earlier, huddled together. I recognize the stranger immediately – a dirty cap, brown messy hair sticking out of it; bulky shoulders. The man speaking to him to him is rather short and plump. His hair is neatly combed back and a neatly cut mustache decorates the space above his lip. His clothes, even I can tell, are fancy and expensive. A nobleman's clothes. He is standing straight, Asif is hunched over. He is shorter that Asif, but somehow it seems as though he is empowering above him. _The way he's talking... The way he's treating the stranger… _

"You work for me, understand that. We will be the first to obtain the little Doyle's power," says the nobleman. With that he turns around and disappears into a carriage.

_Little Doyle… _They were speaking of me!

Asif's words repeat in my head. "_I've been sent…"_

Could it be that this is the man he is working for? From the way he spoke to him it is clear this is a servant-master relationship. But what would this man want of me? He clearly knows of the realms, he wants to gain my trust and… he needs me.

_Why?_

I am lost in my thoughts as I see Asif turning to leave. It has given me much satisfaction to see him being spoken down upon by his master. But I am still curious. He heads sown the street, his pace like a steady rhythm, and I fallow him, keeping a fair distance between us, my steps as light as possible.

_It is always you watching me, _I muse silently. _Now it is my turn. Where are you heading to?_

He seems to be hurrying somewhere, yet he doesn't run. He blends almost naturally into the crowd but I can still find his dark cap and black cloak among the people. He stops before crossing a street and I am forced to stop as well so he won't notice me. Only then do I notice the steady pounding of my heart.

He crosses the streets and heads for one of the alleys. I continue following him, quickening my pace when he does, slowing down when needed. I have lost count of how many times I've turned and how many streets I've crossed. I don't notice it at first, but gradually there are less and less people around me. He is heading deeper and deeper into the city, and I realize for the first time how different these streets look from the main streets. It is grey everywhere, and a horrid stench fills the air. Asif has not noticed me yet. He turns abruptly and heads to what looks like a dark alley, and I start to head towards there when I hear a voice behind me.

"Look out, Miss!"

Hooves are thumping wildly on the ground; a man is screaming somewhere behind me. I turn around in time to see a carriage heading towards me in full speed and manage to glimpse the driver. He is screaming at me, his mouth opening and closing, but my brain cannot decipher what he is saying. In the split second that I realize my situation, my brain registers on one thing.

_I won't make it._

Instinctively I close my eyes. I feel myself being flung sideways by some force. My head hits the pavement beneath me. I hear a strangled meow. Scurrying. A gush of wind hits my face as the carriage drives by the place I was standing at mere seconds ago. My breath comes in shallow gulps. I try to allow more air to enter my lungs but something is stopping me. There is a weight on top of me.

I open my eyes.

A boy's face is inches from mine, filling my vision. I register his hazel eyes before I fling him off of me.

"What the – "

I hear a screech as the carriage halts at the end of the street. Heavy footsteps. Screaming.

"Are you crazy?!" the carriage driver's face now fills my vision, bellowing. "You can't just jump into the street like that!"

"I-I'm s-sorry," I stammer.

"Now my horses are wild and the couple I'm driving is going to be late!"

"I'm sorry…"

I feel a hand on my shoulder. "She said she was sorry," I hear a boy's voice from behind me. "She'll be careful next time."

I turn around. The hazel eyed boy is standing behind me, his head tilted sideways.

"She better be," the driver mutters before entering the carriage and driving away.

I feel a pat on my shoulder. "Are you okay, Miss?"

I stand up and brush my skirt. My head is pounding from where it hit the sidewalk.

"Yes, I am deeply sorry. Thank you. It won't happen again," I mutter.

I try to recollect my senses. I was following the stranger, following Alis… I look around at my surroundings. I am clearly at a far different part of London that I am used to. The streets are narrower and filled with litter. The air is gloomy and grey. What is this place?

_Alis went to that dark alley, I should follow him… _

I turn around. There is a small girl huddled up against the stone wall. She is hugging her knees and I notice she is shivering. I bend over so my face is level to hers.

"Are you all right?" I ask the little girl. She couldn't be any older than Amanda. She is so thin she looks as though she would break any moment.

She stares at me with big grey eyes and shakes her head. She is wearing a tattered rag and her feet are bear.

I put my hand in my pocket. The kitten is gone, probably jumped out of the way when I was flung to the ground. It takes me a split second to decide.

I take off the fur coat, instantly feeling the rush of could air hit my bones. "Here," I say, wrapping the coat around her shoulders. "Take this. It will warm you up. Keep it with you and don't give it to anyone. When winter is over you can sell it and get a lot of money for it." I pat her head softly.

She nods slightly and wraps the coat tightly around her body. The shivering gradually stops. I pat her head softly.

"Take care of yourself, okay?"

She nods.

I smile. Now that the coat is off I feel so much lighter. Really, it was so suffocating inside that fur coat.

Before I notice it I am surrounded by a group of boys. They look around the ages of twelve or thirteen. Their eyes are dull and their clothes are filled with holes.

"Please," one of them says, holding onto my dress. "Will you give us one too? We're cold."

"I'm sorry," I say. "I don't have anymore coats, I'm sorry…"

"Then give us some money, Miss," another boy says.

"I don't have any money with me," I say.

"But you look rich!"

"I'm sorry, I can't give you anything – "

The boy holding onto my dress starts pulling at it. "Surely you have something to give us!"

"That's enough, Percy," I hear an older voice.

The boy lets go of my dress. Approaching us is the hazel eyed boy. His clothes are worn out, too, and his hair is a bit of a mess. But the boys look up at him as he approaches with respecting eyes.

"They were going to pick-pocket you," the hazel eyed boy says in a matter--of–fact voice. He looks to be around my age.

Percy lowers his head. "Sorry," he says to me.

"No, you're not," the older boy laughs. He ruffles the younger boy's hair.

I suddenly remember what I am here for. I turn my head and stare at the dark alley. It has a menacing glare to it.

The older boy follows my gaze. "That's not a place for young ladies," he says.

"Or for anyone," one of he boys adds.

I stare at the alley one more time. It is intimidating, and by now I have probably lost Alis. I might as well head home.

"It was nice meeting you," I say, about to turn around.

"Aren't you going to thank me for saving you from the carriage?" the boy asks.

"Yes. Thank you for banging my head on the sidewalk. It still hurts."

He laughs. "I never heard a lady speak like that."

"There's a first time for everything, I guess."

He tilts his head sideways, his gaze perplexed.

"You're a foreigner, aren't you?" he asks.

"I am not from here, yes. How did you know?"

"Your accent, first of all. And you're in the slums, even though you're obviously rich. Not to mention the fact that you gave a fur coat to girl on the street."

"She was cold," I say in my defense. "I'll be going now, so – er, have a good day."

I turn around and take a few steps. Then I stop.

_Wait, did I come from this way? Or from that one?_

I'm lost.

"You're lost, aren't you?" the boy says behind me.

"No, I'm just… debating where to go."

"I'll be your guide if you pay me. Where do you live?"

Do I have any other choice? I rack my brain. I can clearly picture Tom and Genalyn's house in my mind. But what street was it on?

"I… don't know," I say finally.

"You don't know where you live?"

"No, I don't," I say, frustrated. The back of my head hurts and the warmness from the fur coat is wearing off. I take a few steps, deciding that I will walk until I find a familiar place.

_Wait, maybe…_

I stop and turn around. "Do you know where Bethlem Hospital is?" I ask.

His eyes widen and he stares at me. "Oh."

It takes me a moment to realize what he is thinking.

"No! It's not like that! It's just, my uncle works there, so…"

"All right, I'll take you there," He says, clearly skeptical about my explanation.

"I don't _really _live there," I say.

"Okay."

_He doesn't believe me. Well, it doesn't matter, as long as I reach Tom before he leaves the hospital. I could go home with him then._

"But," I say. "I don't have any money with me."

He sighs. "Then I'll be your guide for free."

"Thank you! I'm sorry to be such a bother…"

Something rubs against my leg. I look down to see the black kitten huddled against my leg.

"Are you cold again?" I ask her.

"_Meow_," is her reply. I pick her up und hold her against my chest.

"I'm ready," I say.

He raises his eyebrows slightly but nods and signals me to follow him. We walk in silence for a few minutes; me walking behind him and studying the streets. It is not the way I came from. I remember Uncle Tom saying something about it being on the other side of London.

"How much longer do you think it will take to get there?" I ask.

"Maybe twenty minutes," he replies.

We continue walking in silence and I replay the events of the day in my mind. It seems so long ago that Amanda barged into my room. Since then I have managed to eat breakfast, enter numerous shops, eavesdrop on a conversation, follow a man who has threatened to kill me, and nearly get run over by a carriage.

"Thank you," I say suddenly.

He slows down and turns around. "It's okay. I have errands to do in that area anyways."

I quicken my pace so I am walking besides him. "No, thank you for before. For pushing me out of the way of that carriage. I could've been trampled to death by that carriage, just like what happened to Marmeladov," I say quietly. The realization of how close I was to meeting my end with that carriage finally sinks in.

"Marmeladov? You know someone who died form getting hit by a carriage?"

"No," I laugh. "Marmeladov form the book, _Crime and Punishment_. I just finished reading it," I say.

"Oh. I haven't read it," he says.

"You should. Thank you, again," I say.

"No problem."

I sigh quietly. Genalyn was right – I _did _need the coat. Now that the coat is off the cold air hits my bare skin with all its force. I wish I hadn't worn such a flimsy dress. I hold the kitten closer to my body. It is also shaking.

"You're pretty weird," he says suddenly.

"Huh?"

He laughs. "Judging by your clothes, you're obviously the daughter of some rich noblemen, yet you still wonder around in the slums. You don't speak so politely. You gave a stranger an expensive bear fur coat."

"Oh, so it was _bear_ fur," I mutter to myself quietly.

"And you're holding a stray cat," he adds.

"The kitten's cold. So was the little girl," I say in my defense. A shiver runs through my body.

He stares at me and then shakes his head. "Here," he says, taking off his brown jacket and handing it to me. "Wear this."

"No – I can't."

"You're shivering."

"But what about you?"

"I'm used to it. Besides, if you freeze to death next to me I'll get in trouble for it," he says.

He drops the jacket over my shoulders, his finger grazing the back of my neck as he does so. The jacket is pretty worn out, but it is warm nonetheless. I give up and put my arms through the sleeves. I tuck the kitten inside the jacket.

"Thank you," I say.

We continue walking. I look around. By the looks of it, we are no longer in what he calls the slums' area. The streets are wider and cleaner. The air is no longer so stiff anymore. I wonder at this city called London. It has been only a few hour, yet I still witnessed so many different areas of this city – each area so different it is like a foreign country to the other.

"How much longer?" I ask again, trying not to be rude.

"Maybe five minutes," he replies. "You know, you're pretty stupid."

"Oh, so now I'm stupid, too."

"Yes. How do you know I'm taking you the right way?" he asks.

"I—"

"For all you know, I could kill you any second and steal your clothes. The slums are full of those kinds of people, waiting to prey on English girls."

"But you saved my life," I say.

"That's not what I'm saying. Just try to be more careful. The slums aren't a place for people like you. You trust people too quickly."

"How long do you know me that you can decide something like that?" I say, annoyed.

He shrugs. "You're trusting _me_."

I don't know what to reply so I just stay silent. I wonder what he meant with that comment. Should I really not trust this person? He seems reliable.

"Here," he says after five minutes. "Bethlem Institution for the Mentally Ill."

I see the peeks of the great building in the distance. "I'll be okay from here, thank you."

"You're welcome," he says.

I wonder if I should say anything more. "I'll be more careful next time," I say.

He smiles. "Good."

I open my mouth to say something else but he already turns to leave.

"Wait!" I remember. "Your jacket…" But he doesn't hear me. He has already disappeared into the crowd.

I wonder if he has another jacket and wish I had something to give him. Today I have seen an ugly side of London. I have seen kids on the bridge of death, hollow faced and hungry. I have seen filth and dirt so unlikely of the London glamour.

"_Meow_," the kitten brings me back to my senses.

"I wonder," I say out loud to the kitten. "What it is like to live in those streets. Or what it is like to live in that hospital. I've been having funny dreams lately. I wonder if that means I am crazy too."

_You're not crazy_, I hear a voice in my head. The kitten looks at me with half closed eyes. I shake my head. No, surely it hasn't come from her.

"I hope I'm not," I say to no one in particular as I enter the Bethlem Hospital for the Mentally Ill.

-----

"_In our winter city,  
The rain cries a little pity  
For one more forgotten hero  
And a world that doesn't care"_

_/_/_/

**A/N: Yay :) finished! Hoped you enjoyed reading it like I enjoyed writing it! This chap has been in my mind for a while and now I've finally had a chance to write it. Next chapter is Christmas.. and Felicity and Ann! Charlie, too… **

**Anyways, I hope the next chappy comes soon. BUT – I am going to use my power as an author and do something kinda evil. I don't know how many people are interested in this story. I know I'm interested in finishing it, but I need the feedback from you guys… SO I'll try to post the next chapter once I get say… 30 reviews. Deal? Deal :D**

**Okay – I know Alis is a bad name, but I really couldn't think of anything. So if anyone has suggestions, I'm free to hear them. **

**And finally, I would like to show my gratitude for those who have read this far.**

**THANK YOU.**

**You deserve a hug. (um… that sounded kinda bad. No, I'm not an internet stalker. Really.)**

**Yours till the police come and arrest me, (just kidding, really!)**

**Mariaty**


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: So after a year, I am (hopefully) back on track. You're probably wondering what got me updating suddenly after sooo long. Well, yesterday I got an email from fanfiction with a review on this story.. and it made me remember it and all the ideas I had for it. And the fact that I am home sick also helps.. haha**

**So here's another long awaited chapter! It's a bit short compared to the rest but I hope you enjoy it :) **** more interesting chapters will come soon…**

**And of course, thanks chasingdreamz for the review!**

CHAPTER SIX

-_Lies-_

__/_/_/_

Genalyn, as expected, is furious.

It is late when I finally enter the house with Uncle Tom. The family is gathered in the lounge. I spot Sharol standing guiltily by the window. I tell them I lost my way and had someone take me to the hospital Tom works at. I leave out all the following strangers into dark alleys and sketchy places part.

"Oh, Dawn!" I am suddenly embraced by Genalyn. She then goes on and lectures me about the things a young lady mustn't do. One of them is walk alone in the streets, especially when I am not familiar with them. According to her I could've been lost, hurt, killed or even worse – had my reputation tainted.

Thankfully she is too preoccupied to notice her missing fur coat, and I hid the boy's brown jacket before she could see it. I have a feeling giving your fur coat to a beggar girl is on the lists of things a young lady mustn't do.

Mother just sighs and tells me to be more careful and watch where I am going so I won't get lost again. She probably would've said something else but I think she figured I've had enough of a lecture from Genalyn .

Meanwhile, Genalyn ventures her anger on Sharol. She blames her for letting me go on my own. Guilt creeps up in my stomach. Sharol has gotten it much worse than I have.

"Genalyn, don't blame Miss Sharol. I was the one who convinced her to let me – "

Genalyn interrupts me, telling me that it is a matter between the governess and herself. I make up in my mind to apologize to Sharol once I get a chance.

We eat dinner in silence. Later, I go upstairs, wanting no more than a hot bath to warm my still cold fingers. I place the brown jacket, which was tucked inside my dress, under my bed.

In the bathroom I take off my clothes. My hand strays automatically to the back of my neck to release the pendent. It grazes bare skin.

My heart skips a beat. Panicking, I place my hand on the back of my neck again. _No, it can't be…_

It's not there. I search my clothes; it is not there either. My mind starts racing with questions. _Where could it be? _I clearly remember wearing it when I left the house. I remember clutching it in my hand as I usually do when we were in the last store. I rack my brain to think off all the places I've been in. Surely I would've felt it fall off! Unless…

I remember sitting earlier today on the bench. Could I have fallen asleep on the bench for a few moments while Sharol was beside me? And I clearly remember Genalyn's warning before I left the house in the morning. Could it be?

I force the thought out of my brain. No! I mustn't blame Miss Sharol for such an act. She is practically my age and I have just started to befriend her. Moreover, she has taken a lot of the blame for my little detour today. Surely she wouldn't steal the pendant when I am asleep…

I take a bath quickly and let the water numb my thoughts. When I finish I search my room for he pendant, but it is no where to be found.

_/_/_/

Before I know it, morning arrives, and Sharol knocks on the door and wakes me up.

"Miss Dawn, breakfast is waiting for you downstairs," she says. I dress quickly and exit the room. Sharol is still standing behind my door; she seems lost for words.

"Miss Sharol, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked you to let –"

"Its okay, Miss Dawn, do not worry about it," she say.

I stare at her guiltily and nod. But then I remember the missing pendant. Should I ask her about it?

"You better go down and eat your breakfast, the porridge will get cold. Amanda and Elizabeth are waiting for you," she adds with a smile.

Again I feel a pang of guilt. I am acting just like Genalyn, suspecting Sharol just because she happens to be the governess. For all I know, it is probably my carelessness that needs to be blamed.

_/_/_/

At lunch Genalyn sits with a few of her friends. They are gossiping about the latest events and scandals. It seems the most spoken-of topic is the scarcity of metal in the region, and how it affects the corsets.

"Oh, I cannot dare to imagine what would happen if I could not purchase any corsets!" one of them exclaims.

"I heard there are new designs for corsets that are made of less metal."

"Less metal? Then what are they made of?"

"Elastic, perhaps?"

"Will they work as well as the old ones?"

"I have already ordered some," Genalyn announces.

Mother is sitting on the couch. She seems to be engrossed in her book as much as the ladies at the table are engrossed in their conversation. I am surprised to see her home. Lately, while I've been spending the day studying and reading books, Mother's been out of the house, going out on errands. She told Genalyn it was Christmas preparations, but I know she's been going on meetings regarding the Order and the Realms. I suspect Uncle Tom knows of it, too.

Surprisingly, Mother looks up from her book and notices me. She smiles and I sit by her side.

"How's your studying going, love?"

I roll my eyes. "Some of it's boring, especially etiquettes and French. But I like reading the books in Uncle Tom's library."

"That's good," she says.

There is a moment of silence and I remember the lost pendant. What would Mother say if she knew it was lost? I could imagine her reaction – disappointment. She will be angry, too. But most of all she will be sad, for it is the only reminder she has of her mother, my grandmother…

For the sixteen years that I've been living with my mother there was one thing that caused me the most pain – and that is when I made Mother sad. That is also the reason why, when I was old enough to understand, I stopped asking her about my father. It made her too sad.

Mother must read my face, for she says, "Dawn, is there something you're not telling me?"

I think of the stranger and his nobleman master, of the slums, of the pendant and of her sad face. I think of the words she told me when we were at Spence. _"You are ready… You've been ready for years"_

"No," I lie.

It is the first time I've ever lied to her.

_/_/_/

**Reviews will be very much accepted (and will also motivate me to write hint hint) **

**Mariaty**


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